Tapestry of the Past
by mistyfur
Summary: Uberfic : Fate decides to show them what they've been denying themselves for so long. Set in a different time period but last chapter will be set on Voyager.
1. Chapter 1

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Disclaimers: CBS/Paramount owes them. I'm just borrowing them for a bit. **

Special thank you to Moofie and Elem for Beta'ing this story and helping me polish up the rough edges. This story was inspired by a wonderful fiddle that was created for me by Belanna, for the VAMB Steamy Secret Summer exchange. If you'd like to check out the picture, please visit my web site and go under the story section.

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**Prologue**

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He watched in disgust as they again denied their destiny. Barriers constantly erected and love died a little more each day. If he did nothing now, these soul mates were forever doomed to lonely, miserable lives, unhappy for all eternity, wasting a precious gift that so few will ever have received.

'Remember what you once had, foolish mortals.' He thought, willing them to fall under his spell.

With a snap, the two sleeping star crossed lovers dreamt of a different time and place, where love had overcome all barriers.

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**Chapter One**

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The Highlands of Scotia had long been a seething pool of ancient feuds, populated by brave warriors who believed in honour and loyalty, and beautiful lasses who tempted all with their fiery spirit. Its people mirrored the strength and the courage of the land, unbreakable spirits in the face of all odds and the will to go forth no matter the tragedies that befell them

Among the many clans of Scotia, only three would play a pivotal role in the coming events put forth by fate. The Lindsay's, whose clan motto was Endure with Strength. The MacLachlan's, whose clan motto was Brave and Faithful. And last, The McNeill's, who followed the clan motto To Conquer or Die.

All players set by fate in their roles; each one unaware of the hidden agendas before them, and the path that destiny would soon play in their lives…

* * *

The cool mist formed a wispy trail around the mighty trees, a mystical and enchanting aura. It wove a teasing pattern along the branches and bright green leaves, before flowing to cascade over the forested ground, only to dissipate from sight. The coos of a morning dove calling to its mate, drifted through the crisp morning air. The gentle sound of a rushing brook echoed and called forth to all who stood in the shadows. A calm breeze blew across the forestry, ruffling the scattered leaves and rich heather growing wild. The sweet scented air was carried away towards the approaching riders.

Laughter and the murmur of conversation filled the air, breaking the peaceful tranquillity.

Hidden from view, the watcher and his men waited to complete their agenda. They crouched low in the bushes, motionless as to not alert anyone to their whereabouts, and waiting for the group of twenty riders to pass by them. The minute that they rode by, the Watcher silently gestured to his men and a barrage of arrows flew through the air.

He watched in satisfaction as the arrows pierced and killed the defenceless riders. Gratified by their cries of pain, he looked on with a delighted malicious smile as their cries weakened and died out. Glancing down at the dead bodies, he realized that he had failed and a roar of discontent filled the air. All this waiting had been for naught, his prey had evaded his trap. He scowled darkly until suddenly a macabre smile filled his face and his laughter filled the air as he noticed three of the bodies. Perhaps this morning had not been a lost cause.

He gathered his men, cursing the fates for denying him his easy victory and damning his adversary for having the devil's own luck but he loudly boasted his victory over crushing his prey's spirit.

They rode out, not sparing a further look at the massacre left behind.

Silence once again filled the air, not a sound was heard. Almost as if, Mother Nature herself was mourning the senseless deaths that had been committed upon her land. A weak cry for help broke the unnatural silence, before fading away.

Laird Iain MacLachlan stood motionless before the hearth, his onyx eyes cold and merciless as they stared into the fire that consumed all that came within its grasp. His anger burned as fiercely as the hungry flames, threatening to overwhelm him in his thirst for revenge.

His family had been slain in cold blood. Defenceless and shot from behind by a cowardly enemy who was too weak to face them on the field of battle with honour.

Betrayal. Someone in his clan had betrayed them and even now, he was forced to shelter an unknown traitor within his midst. Someone who was willing to do anything to gain his desires.

Losing himself in the flames, he relived the past few hours when his life had been destroyed forever.

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Iain was leading a search party through the dense forest, searching for his kin. As the sky started to darken and dusk was almost upon them, worry began to spread when the riding party had not returned to the castle. Praying that they had simply lost track of time, he set out with his men. An icy feeling of dread filled his soul, pressing him to hurry.

Deep within the heart of his land, he found what he searched for, the slain bodies of his parents, sister and their guards. The ground around them steeped with their blood. A river of red flowed downwards into the nearby brook, tainting it with their life's blood.

His angry cry shattered the air and he jumped off his steed, rushing to their sides. His parents lay close to each other, hands clasped together in death as in life. Arrows protruded gruesomely from their backs. Turning he saw her and fell to his knees before his sweet, innocent sister, barely sixteen and just starting to bloom into a great beauty, only to be so cruelly destroyed. He lifted her gently, saw her chest rise slightly, and heard her gasping for air. Iain cradled her tenderly, brushing her raven locks away from her ashen face. Her lips were blue from the cold and the coming spectre of death, but a crooked smile graced them.

"I knew you would come, Iain." She rasped, shivering in pain.

"I'm here, Meg. If only I had come sooner," he choked out. Tears cascaded down his face, and he cared not that any of his men saw his moment of weakness.

"Hush. It is our time, not yours. Honour the MacLachlan name, Iain. But I beg you, do not throw your life away on thoughts of vengeance. Live for us. Promise m..." She pleaded, exhausting the last of her strength.

He hugged her close, begging the Almighty to spare her but feeling her slip away from him, leaving behind only a fragile, broken body. He pressed a tender kiss upon her forehead and laid her gently on the ground. He knelt in the midst of everything he had lost.

"Search the surrounding area," Iain ordered harshly.

"Aye, Laird MacLachlan."

He stood up and looked over the ambush site. The trees and bushes would have provided an excellent spot for the enemy to hide, waiting for the right moment to attack.

"Laird, we found something." A solider called out.

"What is it?" He replied.

"Proof. We found proof of the culprits, Laird MacLachlan."

"Who?" His voice snapped out the question, his tone colder than the icy crystal formed in winter.

"McNeill," the soldier spat.

"McNeill was always a fool. I swear, upon the blood of my family, that they will be avenged." He vowed.

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The flames flickered, drawing his mind back to the present. A present, void of his mother's lilting voice as she teased his father, and void of his father's gruff response as he pulled her into his embrace for a tender kiss. The happy sound of their laughter, forever silenced, never to be heard again. A present, void of his sweet, gentle Meghan with her dulcet voice, singing or reading to the castle's children.

Instead, emptiness gnawed upon his mind, hardening his heart and destroying his soul. The man he had been was gone but like the phoenix rising from its ashes, he was reborn. His every thought and desire focused on one task. Vengeance.

"I vow to destroy all that he holds dear. Only then, will justice be satisfied and will my family be avenged. Forgive me, Meg but I can not let this go unanswered." Iain said aloud, becoming lost with the flames once again.

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	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimers: See Chapter One

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**Chapter Two**

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Lady Catherine Lindsay sat looking out the window, watching the busy courtyard. Clangs of steel on steel, shouts and the wolfhound's howl filled the morning air with the bustling sounds of life. Her cup of coffee sat untouched, growing cooler as the minutes went by. It was something that never had happened before. Not from the moment her father had discovered the rich brew on his travels and brought some home to tempt his family with its heady taste.

She sighed deeply, tapping her long delicate fingers along the open windowsill. Everything had been finalized and all that was left before the marriage was the reading of the bans. All, except her, had made the promises and even though her heart was set against it, she would endure and honour her parent's wishes. If only she felt something for Patrick, then perhaps this decision wouldn't feel so foreign and wrong to her.

"Catherine?" Belle called out, laughing aloud at her cousin's startled look. She sat beside her and tugged on a lock of hair, as they had done when they were young lasses and played with each other. "Have you been listening to a word I've said in the last few minutes?"

Catherine looked back, a sheepish smile on her face. "Sorry, Belle. My mind is unsettled with everything that has occurred recently."

"Oh, Cath, things will work out. All brides are nervous and Patrick isn't a bad man. A touch arrogant and set in his ways but what man isn't?" Belle teased, trying to lighten Catherine's spirit and ease her mind. "Even Thomas has his moments before I remind him of his place."

"Does it work? He still seems a little cheeky to me," Catherine joshed.

"We're talking about your situation not mine," Belle muttered, flushing under Catherine's laughing blue eyes. She clasped Catherine's hand and held it tight. "What's worrying you? It can't just be the coming marriage."

Catherine stood up and paced agitatedly, "I know that he is the catch of the season so why do I fear this so much? Does he truly love me or does he only desire a woman that he can mold into his vision of a proper Lady Wife?" Her voice became more ragged with each word uttered. Desperation was overtaking her normally melodic tone. "Will he smother me until I'm nothing more than a pale imitation of myself? Someone who is meek, timid and afraid to speak her mind."

"Catherine, you must have felt something for Laird McNeill to have accepted his proposal," Belle stated, searching for the cause of her distress.

"Duty," Catherine whispered, glancing away. "I'm doing my duty to my family and my clan."

Belle watched Catherine, her heart aching at the sorrow and anguish her cousin was trying so hard to conceal. Anger began to flow at the needless suffering before her.

"Look at me. I'm two and twenty, by the court's standards I am an old maid. Everywhere we go, I see the looks that I'm given and I see my mother's face as she is looked down upon by the ton for my spinster status. I'm tired of seeing her look upon me with eyes filled with shame and hurt, as each snide comment is spoken loudly enough for us to overhear."

"You shouldn't pay the gossipmongers any mind," Belle replied, hostile ire flashed in her rich brown eyes. "The court must always have a victim in order to play their vicious games. They are nothing more than a bunch of old, bitter biddies."

Catherine burst out laughing. "Only you can reduce the most powerful women in society to nothing more than a mere nuisance. Belle, you constantly make the most horrible of days seem better. I could care less what they say about me but my family does. So, I must play the games and win to make them happy."

"Our families need a swift kick in the arse and a knock over their hard heads," Belle muttered, crossing her arms and glaring at the closed door.

"Are you up to the task alone or should we both do it together?" Catherine suggested.

Belle grinned at her and replied with a small giggle, "Together."

Catherine ran back to her side and talked earnestly, her hands moving rapidly, stirring the air in the closed room. "I'm sure that things will work out between the Laird and myself. In time we'll adjust to our marriage of convenience, perhaps a friendship will develop to make things tolerable. What more can someone desire?"

She looked at Belle, pleading for guidance and understanding. Her royal blue eyes gleaming with unshed tears.

"Love, Catherine." Belle replied gently. "You should desire love."

"Love is for the commoners, not an heiress," she retorted cynically.

"That isn't true. Thomas and I – "

"Were blessed with a marriage filled with love, passion and respect," Catherine interrupted, smiling happily at Belle.

Her cousin had found bliss with the one man that saw her as more than an ornament. In Thomas' eyes, Belle was the only woman on earth and he treated her as if she was the most delicate porcelain, but could argue with her from dusk to dawn. He cherished their time together and refused to part from her side, ignoring all ribbing from his peers and friends, eager to have her within his embrace. A rare husband but the perfect one for Belle. She sighed deeply, yearning for that special someone.

"Now, enough talk of marriage. Mother will be driving me mad soon enough with all the arrangements." Catherine decreed, rolling her eyes at the coming onslaught.

"Fine, will you be going to the ball tonight?"

"The masked ball at the Duncan's?" Catherine asked, her brow furrowed in thought.

"Yes! It's supposed to be the ball of the season. Let's go together and enjoy an evening away from all responsibilities, decisions and arrangements."

"I'm not sure if-"

"I won't accept any other answer except for yes, Catherine," Belle announced firmly. "Are you coming or do I have to drag you there by your hair?"

"I'd like to see you try," Catherine retorted, reaching for her cup. She sipped and sighed in delight. Even cold, the brew still tasted divine.

Belle shuddered as she watched Catherine consume the bitter brew an expression of bliss crossing her features. "I don't know how you can drink that, Catherine. It's fit only to clean rust off metals."

Catherine looked up, arching an eyebrow at Belle's disgusted look. "This is the most wondrous elixir ever created by man. Bold, rich and powerful."

"Which goes to show you how stupid men are, this is only a passing mode. Coffee will never last through the centuries." Belle said with a sniff.

"Bite your tongue. I pray that it never goes away!" Catherine gasped, collapsing backwards in a near faint at the thought.

"Catherine!" Belle scolded.

"What?"

"What are you going to wear tonight?" Belle asked, smiling at Catherine's antics.

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**Iain's POV**

Iain strode into the brightly lit, garishly decorated ballroom, a room filled with the Ton's crème de crème. A maddening affair with bodies being crushed together, barely leaving any room for one to breathe.

He wasn't there to enjoy the evening, no, he had come to complete his vow. Tonight was the first step in avenging his family's murder. Weeks had passed as he gathered information on his foe. Inwardly he raged at the delay but a cool head prevailed and now a ripe plum had landed within his grasp. The final nail in McNeill's coffin.

His dark eyes swept over the crowd. He ignored the come-hither glances behind the masked faces, and disregarded the insipid vacant stares, false smiles and heaving bosoms of the ton's many trollops. Tonight he wasn't searching for a nameless body to lose himself in, tonight his prey would be nearby. The thrill of the hunt heated his blood and helped to dull the bitterness within. In this world of false blondes, mousey brunettes, cool raven beauties, he searched for hair the colour of the rising sun, bold and fiery.

She was to be the last piece in the game to destroy McNeill. Iain would take her from him. The only thing that McNeill desired. And he would do it by any means, fair or foul. An easy task, if the rumours were true. According to the gossip in Court, she was a docile, easily manageable lass, ripe for the picking. He'd sweep in, awe her and seduce her to his side. If she could marry McNeill without love, then passion would be the incentive for her to come to him.

Iain leaned back against the wall, his stance warning all away, a cynical smile twisting his lips and a dark look shadowing his handsome features. 'Let the games begin, and to the victor the spoils.' He thought.

Behind him, a delighted laugh broke through the contrived titters and breathy murmurs, a pure sound without pretence. He turned sharply, his gaze transfixed upon the goddess before him. She was more beautiful than he could have pictured. She stood proudly in a gown made of rich satin in the deepest shade of burgundy. A heart shaped bodice was edged with cream coloured lace with perfectly formed pearls sown into the delicate material. The lace modestly covered her ample charms from hungry eyes. The gown clinched snuggly over her slender waist and draped gracefully over her lush hips. A full skirt fell becomingly to the floor, swaying with each step she took, allowing the slightest glimpse of her trim ankles and jewel encrusted burgundy slippers.

Hiding her angelic face was a demi-mask, made of the purest white peregrine's feathers. Tiny teardrop diamonds and opals were held in place by thinly twisted gold twine. Her beautiful auburn hair had been swept up into an intricate cornet, leaving her slim, pale neck and shoulders bare to the night air. Adorned only with a simply made necklace of blood red rubies, opals and diamonds, it rested just above the dip of her cleavage.

Her lips drew his gaze, rosy and plump, just begging for a lover's kiss to awaken them to great pleasures. He knew then that this was more than just vengeance. His instant desire for her warned him that he hungered for more from her. He wanted her surrender but for different reasons. His soul urged him to move forward and claim her as his in front of everyone.

Lady Catherine, the McNeill's bride to be, soon to be his if the fates were merciful. Nothing would stop him from succeeding and making her his.

Iain walked slowly towards her, his onyx eyes caught and held hers. Desire flared between the two as he came closer, he saw her blue eyes dance with anticipation. The crowd parted out of his way, acknowledging his powerful charisma as he walked towards his prey, his gaze locked upon the petite figure. Reaching her, he bowed and brushed his lips over her soft, rose scented hand. He smiled as she shivered from the gentle caress.

"My Lady," he murmured, his voice deep and seductive.

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**Catherine's POV**

Upon arriving at the ball, Belle, Thomas and Catherine had immediately been swallowed up by a swarm of people. They curtsied and bowed their way through the room. Sighing, Catherine drifted off to the side, needing a break from fighting her way through the crowded room. Though she had protested about coming, the ball would give her a chance to be at ease, carefree and avoid any further wedding plans.

Belle had spent all day helping her choose her dress before deciding on the rich burgundy gown. It was a bold colour and she wasn't sure that the colour suited her but Belle had waved aside her worries and declared her a ravishing beauty, not willing to see Catherine in any other gown but this one.

Belle stood beside her wearing a lush green gown that molded to her curves and showed off her lush body. A demi-mask of peacock feathers hid her features from all but nothing could hide the mischievous winks or pouty lips when she glanced at Thomas. Emerald earrings and an emerald necklace complimented her attire.

"Catherine, you look absolutely stunning this evening," Thomas said, glaring away potential rakes and cads from the two beauties on his arms. "I'll have to keep a close eye on you this eve."

"Thomas, you should know by now that I won't be easily swept off my feet by a handsome face or a glib tongue." Catherine replied, not impressed with his over protective demeanor. "Besides, shouldn't you be telling Belle that?"

"Not if he wishes to see the next dawn," Belle threatened, daring her husband to act like an uncouth male. "Thomas knows better than to play the over protective male with me, Catherine."

"Hush, love, you'll ruin my reputation with the lads." Thomas quipped, wrapping his arms gently around her waist.

"Which reputation is that, dear?" Belle asked, batting her long lashes at him. "Your witty charms or perhaps your jokester habits?"

"My prowess with the lasses, of cour-" he started to tease, grinning deviously down at her irate face. "Omp!"

"My Lord Pig," she snapped, elbowing him swiftly in the ribs and wrenching free of his embrace. "I pray that you enjoy sleeping outside of our bed chamber for the next little while."

Thomas knelt in front of her, his hands lightly over his heart. "Belle, they were the mere trinkets of a long ago, young and foolish lad. You are the sun, moon and stars. A shining beacon for my love to follow whenever the world makes my soul weary and weak from pain." Thomas said, his voice a whispered at her tenderly, "Within our chambers, you give me life and mph-"

Belle slapped a hand over his mouth, flushing bright red. A nervous giggle emerged from her parted lips and her eyes were wide with disbelief. "Thomas, hush!"

"Thomas, you'd best beware, one day your tomfoolery will land you in trouble with your commanding officer." Catherine chided.

He leapt up and tugged Belle close to him, his green eyes twinkled with mirth as he struggled to hold onto a wriggling angry vixen.

"Let go, husband, if you wish to keep your lying tongue," Belle hissed, smiling evilly at him.

"You wouldn't do that, Belle. I know how much you enjoy my tongue," Thomas growled, stealing a kiss from his shocked wife.

She gasped and blushed brighter than a pomegranate. She pushed against his shoulder but fell swiftly under the spell of his kiss.

Catherine watched the two lovers, aching for the happiness and love that she saw before her. She yearned for that special someone with whom she would be able to share all of her dreams, fears and desires. She hungered for someone that would tease and love her as much as Thomas loved Belle. A love that could brighten the room and spirits of those all around. She could only hope that Laird McNeill was the right choice.

Belle broke free of the heated embrace and lightly slapped his shoulder, scolding him for his madcap behaviour in front of so many people. It was a half hearted effort and didn't fool anyone watching, especially with Thomas's pleased smile shining brightly for all to see.

"Honestly, you act more like a caveman than a gentleman at times," Belle scolded, patting her mask and gown into their proper place.

"Not a gentleman," Thomas gasped, looking wounded at her harsh words, "but a highlander. Come here, wench!"

Catherine's laughter rang out at his crazed antics.

She froze as the sensation of being watched swept over her, turning slightly her curious blue eyes met dark, rich onyx eyes. She shivered under the heated stare and quickly looked away, but found her gaze drawn back towards his. Hunger shone from his eyes as they looked upon her, and a dangerous gleam of seductive promise emanated from them.

Under lowered lids, she watched as the crowd parted, providing a clear path to her. He moved with a panther's grace, slow and with purpose but ready to attack for the kill at the slightest sign of weakness. The world faded away, as she watched his movements from across the room.

His skin was a rich golden hue, no doubt from long hours spent sparring and training with the troops. His hair was a lush raven's mane that fell to his shoulders. He had tied it back with a thin leather strip, pulling it away from his chiseled jaw and brushing it back from his dark eyes. He wore a simple white dress shirt and a black pair of breeches that clung to his muscular frame, outlining every muscle and hard angle of his body. With each powerful stride that he took, his muscles rippled under the cloth. All around him, the sighs and lusty murmurs in lilting, high-pitched voices echoed their appreciation for his form.

'Stop it, Catherine,' she chided herself, her eyes widening and filling with desire as he got closer and closer to her position. 'He's simply a man dressed like all the others, there's nothing different about him.'

'Oh, but there is!' Her treacherous mind taunted her, playing back the image of his approach. 'Look at the fops and compare them to his masculine beauty. Even Patrick doesn't exude this raw, earthy sensuality that just begs a woman to explore further and deeper into his psyche.'

She shivered and blushed as her mind sent image after image at her, his arms wrapped around her, his hands on her body and his lips pressed against hers in a searing kiss.

As her mind and heart battled, her eyes feasted on his as he stood before her. Her lips parted and she licked her suddenly dry lips. The earthy scent of his cologne captured her senses and pulled her deeper into his thrall.

With a rakish smile, he bowed and grasped her hand tenderly within his, lightly brushing his lips over her silky skin. She was ready to melt at his feet and he hadn't even spoken a word to her.

"My Lady."

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	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimers: See Chapter One

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**Chapter Three**

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They stood motionless, lost in each other eyes. She struggled to suppress a shiver as his thumb swept over her fingers, in a gentle caress.

"Laird?" She inquired her voice husky and low, a siren's call to all who heard its dulcet murmur.

"Now that would defeat the purpose of the masquerade," Iain teased, with a deep, rich laugh. "Call me Iain."

"That wouldn't proper," she replied, an eyebrow arching in challenge. "Are you trying to lead me astray within moments of our meeting, sir?"

"Nay, my name spoken from your mesmerizing lips can only be transformed into a word of purity and innocence. What could be more proper and just, than words uttered by one of heaven's earthbound angels?" Iain reasoned smoothly, his hand continuing its maddening caress along her palm.

"You compare me to an angel but for all you know I could be the devil in disguise." She retorted, looking coquettishly at him under half closed lashes.

"Evil has never looked as beautiful and as tempting as you do right now. Your skin gleams like a flawless pearl in the soft candlelight and your auburn hair in a fiery halo about your goddess like face. If you are indeed the devil, you've captured me easily, but I'd be content to remain at your side all eve, waiting on your every desire and need," Iain professed in a soft whisper, audible only to her while he flashed her a dimpled smile, "Perhaps a stroll in the gardens, in order to learn more of each other."

Catherine hesitated, innocent flirting with a masked stranger was often done at these balls but the intimacy of a midnight stroll was dangerous. She was almost engaged to marry, if Patrick learned of this escapade he'd call off the marriage and her family name and honour would be destroyed forever.

"I can't," she stated, backing away from him and pulling her hand from his distracting grasp. Her hands clenched into fists and she hid them within the fabric of her gown.

"You can," he murmured, drawing her back towards him, enjoying the cat and mouse game they were playing. "Are you married?"

"No, but soon to be engaged," she replied, pulling against his soft hold.

"Have the bans been read?" Iain asked, trapping her in his intense, heated look, knowing the answer already.

"Not yet but..."

"Hush, an innocent stroll won't bring about your downfall. I promise to be on my best behaviour," Iain promised, mentally crossing his fingers. He needed to be alone with her, something deeper than vengeance compelled him to seduce her to his side. 'Lust, probably' he thought silently, masking a smirk as he watched her fidget under his stare.

"Thomas can vouch for my word of honour, if that eases your mind." Iain continued, trying to charm her.

Catherine looked at him suspiciously and a frown began to develop at his words. She placed her hands on her waist, and with her movement, allowed a delightful view of her bountiful flesh.

Iain stifled a groan as her creamy mounds rose and teased the fragile lace's edge. Reluctantly, he pulled his gaze to hers and bit back a chuckle. She stood before him, barely reaching his mid chest, but her gaze fiery enough to sear through his clothing and burn his flesh with her ire.

"How do you know Thomas?" She demanded, her eyes narrowed and her voice sharp.

Thomas and Belle had been approaching her position and had overheard her last question. Rushing to her side, Thomas quickly sought to banish her concerns.

"Catherine, we fostered together. I would trust him with my life," Thomas interjected, "He isn't one of the rakes or cads of society. If you choose to go out with him, you'll be as safe at his side as by mine."

Belle let out a snort of disbelief and shook her head, remembering their innocent stroll.

"Keep him a few paces away, Catherine. These lads are quick with their hands and their tongues drip smoothly with well practiced lines." Belle warned, winking at her irate cousin.

"Lady Belle, you wound me with such harsh criticism," Iain said quietly. "Catherine, I promise to be on my best behaviour or perhaps I should I be in fear for my virtue?"

They laughed aloud, their peels of laughter ringing throughout the murmurs of conversation.

"I think that I can resist your magnetism," Catherine replied, exasperated. "Shall we?"

He offered his arm and together they walked onto the balcony. The strains of a string quartet began to filter into the crisp night air. The sounds of a Viennese waltz serenaded them as they slowly walked down the path towards the garden.

The moon shone brightly in the midnight black sky, casting an iridescent glow unto the earth below. Tiny diamond like stars glittered in the distance, twinkling almost in time with the music.

Lit torches marked a clear path into the lush garden. Marble benches padded with violet silk pillows, were framed by sweetly scented roses, lilies and jasmine blossoms. Their delicate scent perfumed the air, tantalizing the senses of the nearby lovers.

As Catherine and Iain walked about, she cast sideways looks at him. His head bent attentively to hers, his eyes demurely gazing upon hers and his arm holding hers as they moved further away from the watchful eyes of the ton. The comfortable silence between them stretched until Catherine broke it.

"Why are you here, Iain?" She asked. "Surely, you had someone else and somewhere else that you'd rather be at."

He turned and looked at her in surprise, "I'm where I wish to be. I'm enjoying the evening with the most beautiful woman at the ball. Why wouldn't I want to be here?" He murmured.

The silence resumed and she watched him thoughtfully.

"Perhaps you need a few reasons as to why I am so eager to be at your side," Iain offered, grinning at her expression. "Your rosy lips tempt a man to claim them until they open underneath theirs. Your breath makes a man hunger for gasps of pleasure to be uttered from those petal soft lips. But it is your eyes," he purred, feeling her body stiffen against him.

"Your eyes tell a man of your hunger for more. Those blue eyes speak of a deep desire, begging for the right man to come along to capture and then release it, unleashing it from its confining tether."

"You shouldn't speak to me with such familiarity," Catherine spat, stopping abruptly and jerking her arm from his. The peaceful moment had been shattered by his taunting words and Catherine seethed in anger at his smirking visage. "Only my fiancé has that right."

'_Patrick, your dear deceitful, murderous fiancé.'_ Her remark reminded him of the reason for his presence. _'She's only a pawn in your game.' _He chastised himself, his voice echoed tauntingly in his mind as he tried to convince himself. He forced himself to go on with his plan.

"But does your body hunger for his touch? Does your heartbeat quicken at the thought of him?" Iain mocked challengingly, "Do you even realize how you looked when you gazed upon me this eve? I felt your glance across the crowded ballroom. You flushed under my ardent stare, you shone with unfulfilled desire and your breathing deepened to match mine. You were demanding that I take you in front of all of society."

"Thomas was wrong. You are a rake and a pig. I was foolish to come here with you," Catherine retorted, her voice rising with each word. She turned from him and began to walk away from his presence and his outlandish accusations. After a few steps, she turned back and called out icily," I pray that your family isn't aware that you are without a shred of honour and decency."

She stalked towards the balcony when arms wrapped snugly around her waist and she was pulled flush against a tense, muscular chest. Each agitated breath she took, rubbed her body against the firm arm and a slow ache teased her senses.

"Careful lass. A man without honour would have already stolen a few kisses and have been well on his way to taking more." Iain threatened with a growl, hold fast to her wriggling body. "You've been asking for me to take your body all evening."

"You are deluded, no doubt brought on by your pigheadedness," Catherine retorted, tugging at the iron hard arm about her. As her struggle didn't result in her release, she dug her sharp nails into his flesh.

"The dainty cat has claws," Iain remarked, enjoying her frantic movements as she fought to escape his embrace.

"Let me go you, barbarian," she demanded, kicking his ankle.

He grimaced and spun her to face him, "Cease, or pay the consequences, Catherine."

"Let go," she demanded slowly, her voice brittle and cold but glaring heatedly at him.

"Nay, I like you exactly where you are. Keep struggling," he urged her, laughing at her anger-flushed face.

The sharp sound of flesh on flesh echoed through out the air. Catherine stood, her hand covering her mouth in shock. Her hand tingled from the blow and the sharp imprint stood out from Iain' cheek. She had never struck another being and remorse rolled over her seconds after the blow had been delivered. She looked at Iain and cringed at the fury directed her way.

"That was a mistake, Catherine," he responded coldly before capturing her lips in a punishing, and bruising kiss.

His tongue pried her lips apart and swept in to mate with hers, demanding a response from her. He drew forth the battle between them, strategizing a retreat and advance into her moist mouth. Unwilling to accept anything, except her willing surrender to his touch.

Catherine's knees weakened and she clung desperately to his board shoulders. He overwhelmed her senses with each dip, caress and movement of his lips against hers. She moaned as his tongue teased the edges of her lips before darting within again and conquering her. Desire flared and she slowly began to feel light headed. Rage erupted within her. There was no tenderness, only a need to dominate and subdue. She tore away, gasping for air as she struggled to draw air into her parched lungs. Her glittering blue eyes met his smug ones.

She smiled up at him and gripped tightly onto his forearms. Inwardly pleased as he looked at her suspiciously. With a satisfied snicker, she kneed him in the groin and watched as he collapsed at her feet. No longer the proud smug male but a gasping babe clutching at his damaged assets.

A surprised gasp and a heartfelt groan sounded behind her. She turned swiftly and saw Thomas and Belle surprised faces.

"What happened?" Thomas demanded, cringing in sympathy at Iain' ball like figure.

"As you can see, Thomas. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Belle, please join me in the ballroom," she replied coolly, arching a brow at their stunned expression. She looked down at the curled figure at her feet and nudged it with a dainty slipper. "My Lord, I pray you enjoy the rest of the evening.

Without a backward glance, Catherine walked away from the prone body lying on the floor.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimers: See Chapter One

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* * *

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**Chapter Four**

* * *

Thomas knelt beside Iain, cringing in sympathy as he glanced upon his friend's tense, greenish appearance and heard his ragged breaths filled the night air. He lay curled up in a tight ball, a hand protecting him from further assaults on his manhood.

"Are you alright, Iain?" He asked hesitantly.

"What? Are you daft, Thomas?" Iain snarled, his voice almost in a falsetto. "She may as well have torn it off. It probably would have hurt less. What happened to the sweet, docile lass you spoke of? She behaved more like a temperamental shrew."

"You must have gotten on her bad side. Don't forget that she is kin to Belle and is likely to have a touch of temper," Thomas murmured, holding out a helping hand. "What the bloody hell did you say to her? I've never seen Catherine act in this manner."

"Never you mind. 'Tis between Catherine and I," Iain retorted, a wolfish smile spreading across his face as he stood with Thomas' aid. "Lady Catherine has just met her match."

A concerned look passed over Thomas' face and he glared at Iain, "If you hurt her, I'll skewer you with your own sword and boast you upon your own battlements."

"Hurt her?" Iain mused, an imp's gleam in his eyes and a devilish smile for all to see. "Nay, the last thing I wish is to hurt her unless it's breathless pleas for me to stop."

"You bastard!" Thomas spat, stepping forward, his fist swinging towards Iain.

Iain caught it easily and held onto it firmly, his muscles tensing under the strain of restraining Thomas' fist. "How long have you known me, Thomas?"

"Ten years now," Thomas replied through clenched teeth, his voice icy with anger.

"You know I don't mess with the innocent lasses." Iain said quietly. "If anything were to happen between the two of us, it would be because we are betrothed or married. My honour is not something that I would compromise."

Thomas nodded at him and relaxed his stance. Iain released his hand and watched as Thomas clenched and unclenched his fist to return blood to the freed flesh.

"What about your family?"

"I haven't forgotten my vow to them but what better revenge against McNeill than to take from him his desired bride before I make him pay for his crime."

"You don't know what he's capable of doing. When an animal trapped and in fear of its very survival, it will fight with whatever weapons they have at their grasp, be it fair or foul. Don't drag Catherine into the middle of your battle." Thomas urged, a feeling of dread sweeping over him.

Iain walked away from him and looked up at the shooting star that sped across the night sky. "I can't."

"You have to," Thomas inserted.

"No, Thomas. I mean I cannot. Something about her pulls me toward her side. It's an urge more powerful than fear, caution or vengeance." He replied, ruefully shaking his head. "For the first time in weeks, I felt peace as I stood by her side, a sense of coming home. Her embrace sheltered and held the pain at bay and I saw the world as a place where deceit and betrayal are not the norm, even after that painful blow that was so swiftly dealt to me by her."

Understanding washed over Thomas. It was exactly how he felt for Belle. Her softest embrace that was more powerful than whatever the world could throw his way. A welcome haven for a weary warrior.

"You care for her," Thomas stated.

"I don't know what I feel for her," Iain lied, recognizing instantly the falsehood that he had uttered. He froze as an unfamiliar feeling overtook him and he looked into Thomas knowing eyes. "I… perhaps, I do feel something…"

"Hold off, Iain. I know that everything inside is demanding that you claim your mate but first you must get your house in order. Rid yourself of the infection destroying you from within your walls before proceeding any further," Thomas said, trying to cut through Iain' desires and make him see reason. "Any news about who your traitor is?"

Iain glanced back, his face grim. "I have a few leads but I hesitate to act without proof of their treachery. The evidence is pointing towards a key member of my guard. Someone who is desperate and wants control of the clan."

"The usual reasons for their betrayal? Greed, money and power," Thomas spat. "How can they think the clan would side with them after they resort to killing the innocent to gain the leadership? And what role does McNeill play in this plot?"

Iain let out a harsh laugh. "What does McNeill want, would be the better question. The destruction of the clans joining in peace. Think of it, Thomas. Without the petty quarrels and feuds among us, Scotia would once again prosper and grow, no longer would the ground be saturated with the blood of our kinsmen."

"Why try to stop it then? All this useless death harms all the clans," Thomas said exasperated.

"Sometimes I wonder if you pay attention to any of the meetings we've attended in preparation for the merger." Iain answered, shooting him a disgruntled look. "What do the McNeill's trade in?"

"They hire out as army… I'm a complete idiot," Thomas sighed, "Without all the inbred fighting, they stand to lose a great deal. But who in your clan would side with the devil to gain their way?"

"With your help, I'll trap him," Iain stated, his eyes burning with barely suppressed rage. "I have a plan but the time is not yet right to launch it."

"You have only to say the word and all of my men will stand behind you." Thomas promised. "And Catherine?"

"I'm sorry but I can't let her go," Iain answered, walking away from Thomas' pensive form.

"May the Almighty watch over you and have mercy on you both," Thomas pleaded, watching his friend stride into the crowded ballroom. Shaking his head, he followed Iain' path, eager to find Belle and return to her side.

* * *

"He is a disgusting, crude beast!" Catherine vented, pacing madly in front of Belle. Her sky blue morning dress, swayed rapidly with each step she took. As she ran her fingers mindlessly through her upswept curls, small tendrils of auburn hair fell to frame her heart shape face. Her mouth was pursed in a small moue of discontent and a fierce frown graced her normally calm features.

Belle choked back a chuckle at the figure of her normally tranquil cousin twirling about the room in frustration. She picked up her cup and took a sip, watching Catherine waving her hands about her distractedly.

" 'The cat has claws.' " She mimicked. "He's lucky that I didn't claw out his ebony eyes for his forwardness."

"What else did he say to vex you so?" Belle asked, interrupting the tirade.

Belle struggled to maintain her stern appearance but inwardly she rejoiced. Never had she seen Catherine so vividly irate. Her cheeks were flushed with a rosy blush, her blue eyes were glittering with anger and the hint of something more, if one was to look closely upon her. In her anger towards Iain, she was blossoming and for the first time, releasing her emotions. Her pride had been affronted but desire was waging a war with it.

"How dare he?" She muttered, stamping a tiny slipper clad foot hard on the wooden floorboards. She pictured that it was his toes, which she was crushing beneath her foot. Before she sat down on the almond coloured brocade loveseat, her fingers tapped at the arm in a rapid beat.

"Catherine, you're ranting," Belle chortled, no longer able to hold in her mirth. "You're flailing about, ranting and raving over a man that you've just met."

"I am not!" Catherine denied, "I'm fuming."

"Same thing," Belle retorted, "You remind me so much of myself right now."

"Really," Catherine asked, "How so?"

Belle chuckled at Catherine's mulish look and continued, "Yes." She stressed. "I was throwing things and yelling loud enough to raise the dead the day I met Thomas."

Belle paused but Catherine urged her on, eager to hear the full story.

"He approached me at one of those balls that we were constantly being dragged to. I didn't want to be there and I had already fought off the advances of two lecherous noblemen." Belle reflected, remembering the moment as if it had only occurred minutes ago, her ire once again rising as the scene came to life within her mind. "There he stood before me, two buxom blondes hanging from his arms, the scent of their perfume overwhelming all those around them and leaving a trail of the disgusting stench in the air."

"And?"

"He asked me if I'd like to stroll with him!" Belle muttered.

"He didn't," Catherine gasped, her eyes wide at Thomas' audacity.

"He did. There he was, surrounded by two women and not satisfied with what he had. I looked at him and turned up my nose at him, sniffing loudly enough that he'd understand my distaste for him and his entourage. As if I would want anything to do with a rake like him. He asked again and I responded with a firm no, thinking that would be the end to his ways. But no, he followed around the room not willing to accept my answer."

Catherine snickered as she thought of her hot-tempered cousin's walking around with a persistent suitor upon her heels. "What happened next?"

"Well, as I moved about the room, Thomas echoed my movements, following me about the room, with those two simpleton maids following docilely behind him."

"What did you do?"

"I turned around and demanded in a loud voice that if he truly wished to have anything to do with me, he'd be wise to remove the clinging vines from his arms and not to approach me until he no longer reeked of a cheap trollop's cologne." Belle replied, her voice filled with satisfaction remembering the scandalized looks for the people that were around them.

"Belle, you didn't!" Catherine choked out, her laughter ringing a loud.

Belle smiled serenely, "I did. He called the next day, the picture of a perfect gentleman."

Catherine watched her thoughtfully, "A perfect gentleman? Did you not return to the house with his love mark upon your neck? With crumbled leaves within your disheveled brown locks and your dress mussed and hemline torn?"

"Enough about Thomas and I," Belle mumbled, her face bright red. She had forgotten that Catherine had been present for that incident.

"What are you going to do?" She asked, eager to turn the conversation back onto Catherine's plight.

"Me? Nothing. I doubt that I'll ever see him again." Catherine replied, rolling her eyes at Belle's attempt to change the subject. "Good riddance to bad rubbish."

"Catherine, if he's anything like Thomas, I don't think that you've seen the last of him."

"I left the man crumpled on the floor, moaning in pain. My intentions towards him could not have been any clearer."

"Precisely, you challenged him. Even though in your eyes it was a dismissal, to him it was like waving a red flag." Belle said gently. "I'd delay the reading of the bans."

"I can't," Catherine said, shaking her head. "I gave my word."

"Catherine, what colour are Patrick's eyes?" Belle asked, determined to prove her point.

"Blue… no brown… I think," she muttered, brow furrowed in thought.

"His hair."

"Brown." Catherine replied, unsure where Belle was heading with her questions.

"What colour are Iain' hair and eyes?"

"His eyes are like deep pools. A mesmerizing onyx hue that tugs one to become lost within his gaze, framed by the longest lashes. His hair is the colour of a black bird's wing, tempting one to run their fingers through the thick locks." She sighed dreamily, lost in the memory of the pervious night.

"Not that you noticed," Belle remarked dryly.

"No," Catherine echoed, flushing. "Not that I noticed."

They sat in silence. Belle sipping her tea and Catherine contemplating.

"I can't go through with it without knowing. If I truly loved Patrick, I would have no doubts about the wedding." Catherine stood up, and frowned in thought for a moment. She turned to Belle. "I'm going to delay until I know what my heart wants. I'll just have to come up with a good reason to tell Patrick."

Belle put her cup down and hugged Catherine, "It was the same for Thomas and me. A bolt out of the blue that filled the air with excitement, passion and moments of extreme ire at his foolish ways."

"We could be wrong," Catherine whispered, needing to say it a loud and keep everything from running away with her. "He may not even have given me a second thought."

Belle snorted and held Catherine at arms length, shaking her slightly. "You kneed the man in the groin. I doubt that he's forgotten you so quickly," Belle teased, giggling at Catherine's embarrassed look.

A soft knock drew their attention away from each others teasing to the door.

"Come in," Catherine called out.

"My Lady, Laird MacLachlan has come to call and your mother requests your presence in the formal sitting room," the maid announced, bobbing a small curtsy.

"Please inform my mother that I will be right down, Mary." Catherine answered, turning to look at Belle in confusion as Mary silently exited the room.

"Father's mentioned Laird MacLachlan and his role in the unity efforts. According to father and everyone who's been involved from the start of this movement, he has been a pillar of strength, not allowing the clans bickering to ruin the new accord." Catherine informed Belle, her voice filled with admiration. "It was thought that all was lost when his family were brutally murdered, and that he'd lose interest in uniting the clans, but his resolve only strengthened. The Laird had made a promise upon the graves of his family to go forth with their wishes for peace."

"He sounds like a strong, loyal ally who will rise above tragedy for the good of others," Belle stated. "Have you met him before?"

"Laird MacLachlan? No, I've not had that honour, but father says that we have a lot in common."

'Or so you think, Catherine.' Belle thought with a small grin.

"Really, what exactly do you have in common?" Belle teased.

"Stubbornness and a contrary manner," Catherine remarked with a cheeky grin.

"A match made in heaven," Belle replied seriously, her brown eyes dancing with laughter.

"Hush! Two men are more than enough of a handful for a woman to deal with without you adding a paragon of virtue to the mix," Catherine scolded playfully. She stood and made her way towards the door, she opened it and glanced back, having noted that Belle had not followed her and she was gazing upon her with a calculating expression. "What?"

"Nothing," Belle answered innocently, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

"You're not fooling me for a second but I don't have time to delve deeper into this right now," Catherine announced. "Well, are you coming?"

"Go ahead, I just need a moment," Belle answered, waving her out the door. "I'll be right down."

Shaking her head at Belle antics, Catherine walked out the door and was half way down the hall when Belle's gleeful laughter filled the hallway.

'What's wrong with her?' Catherine mused as she walked quickly towards the sitting room.

As she walked, she brushed a hand over her hair straightening any loose strands before reaching down and tugging upon her dress to remove any creases in the material. She rustled it until it settled serenely about her petite frame.

The closer she came to the closed door, the louder the murmurs of conversation became. Her mother's soft lilting voice mixed with the deep rich tones of the visiting Laird. Catherine slowed, subconsciously recognizing the deep voice. A feeling of déjà vu spread across her and she hesitated briefly, her brow furrowed in thought. Her hand reached forward slowly before swinging open the door and gliding into the room, dropping into a perfect curtsey.

"Laird MacLachlan," she murmured respectively.

"Hello Lady Catherine. Please, there's no need for such formalities among friends." A familiar voice mocked her.

Her head snapped up and she looked into his amused onyx eyes.

"You!"

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

Disclamiers: See Chapter One

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**Chapter Five**

* * *

Iain decided to start the next phase of his plan for revenge against Patrick. Deception was the game that he had used in order to get close to Catherine and it was something that he was already not satisfied with. He wished they had meet under different circumstances. Without the taint of vengeance overshadowing his every move towards her, and without Patrick's presence in the background.

Would she forgive him for his deception and lies? Alternatively, would she walk away from the attraction between them, forever closing the door between them? With the upcoming battle within his clan, and with Patrick, did he have any right to approach her? Could he stay away from the spell she had so easily woven around him?

These thoughts raced repeatedly through Iain' mind as he rode towards her manor house. He had planned to show up and pretend that he had just been in the area and decided to pay a visit to Laird Lindsay.

Upon his knock, he was escorted into a small sitting room painted in calming shades of rich cream and gold but accented in a bold burgundy colour of the settee and armchairs. The seating was arranged in a cozy half circle in the middle of the room, and a fresh steaming pot of tea sat on one of the marble tables. A pair of delicate rose painted cups rested nearby, ready to be filled with the steeping brew.

A golden timepiece encased in glass, turned slowly in a circle as it chimed the hour, its bell-like tone filled the silence with a ringing peel. He walked to stand by the large bay window, looking out at the blossoming garden and the rolling mist covered hills in the distance.

He knew not how long he had been lost in the beauty before him, but the sensation of being watched swept over her and he turned to glance at the open doorway.

He swept a bow, "Lady Lindsay. Forgive the intrusion."

"Laird Maclachen," Lady Glenna Lindsay murmured, curtsying. "This is an honour and a surprise. We hadn't been expecting you to call upon us. My husband is away overseeing the crop harvest, if he had known you'd be here, I'm sure that he would have made himself available. I've asked for my daughter to attend and she should be here any moment."

"There's no need for her to rush. It was uncouth of me to arrive without notice but I was in the area and thought to stop by. I pray that this isn't an inconvenience, Lady Glenna?" Iain entreated charmingly, flashing his twin set of dimples at her.

'Handsome devil, isn't he? I wonder, if this has anything to do with Catherine and last night,' Glenna thought returning his smile while watching his twinkling eyes and dashing smile.

"No, not at all. Would you care for a refreshment? I can call for coffee or perhaps a dram of whiskey to pass the time until my daughter arrives," She offered, calling forth the waiting maid.

She motioned him to take a seat and once he was settled she sat across from him, observing his every move.

"A dram of whiskey would be fine, Lady Glenna," Iain replied, "I have tried coffee but found it to be a bitter brew. There is not much to recommend it, except perhaps as polish for leather."

A maid came forth and poured a cup of tea, handing it to Lady Glenna before offering Iain his glass of whiskey, they murmured their thanks and she quickly walked back to her place by the doorway. "Mary, please go and call Catherine to join us."

"Aye, Lady Lindsay." Mary replied bobbing a small curtsy before slipping out the door quietly.

Glenna waited until Mary had departed before laughing at Iain' comment, "My thoughts exactly but my husband and Catherine have become addicted to the vile substance."

"That leaves more of the other beverages for us," Iain teased, his rich baritone laugh joining her lilting one.

Lady Glenna was an enchanting creature and Iain saw within moments where Catherine received her beauty, wit and intelligence. She was a petit woman, the top of her head barely reached his mid-chest, her still vivid auburn hair was peppered with silvery gray threads and shrewd grey eyes assessed his every move. They noted every smile, inhaled breath and each impatient tap on a finger along the heavy crystal glass in his hand.

Iain felt her eyes boring into him. Her piercing gaze had the power to strip away the layers of polished veneer that he showed to the world. He felt as if that she could read into the depths of his soul and he met her penetrating look, unashamed and hiding nothing from her. She was almost mystical in her understanding of him. Her approval was the key to getting closer to Catherine, she held the power to sway things in his favour or doom things from this moment on. At her nod of approval, Iain released a breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding.

"I was sorry to hear the news of your parent's and sister's death. They were good people, always ready to lend a helping hand to those in need. It was a tragedy to lose them so soon and in such distasteful circumstances. I hope that you've had someone around you to help you through this difficult time," she said, placing a motherly hand tenderly on his cheek and smiling at him sadly.

Iain drew in a sharp breath at her touch, in that second he remembered all the times his mother had gentled his temper or his pains with her soft touch. It was a universal touch, which soothed away the cruelties of the world and sheltered one briefly from the slings and arrows of others, a touch that he had missed since her death. Lady Glenna had offered him a connection, if only for a moment, that he thought lost. He struggled to maintain his even breathing and not let his tears flow. His hand covered hers, trembling slightly from the overwhelming emotions her touch wrought.

"I do miss them dearly," he whispered, his voice filled with pain.

"I know, Iain," she murmured soothingly. "But I also know that you must be looking for their murderers. You would not let this injustice go forward without seeking punishment for the crime committed to your family. You probably already have an idea of the culprit as well."

"Aye," Iain replied shocked at her perceptions.

"I also know that you didn't just happen to stop by," she continued, reaching for her tea and taking a small sip. "Crumpet?"

Iain looked at her with a stupefied expression. Within a matter of seconds, she had reduced him to complete silence. Her easygoing manner hid her cunning tactics. Tactics as finely honed as the most seasoned of warriors. Her incisive words cut through the crafted barrier that he portrayed as easily shears through fabric, only then to throw him off stride by asking him about his hunger.

"What did you say?" Iain croaked, amazed at the tiny woman in front of him.

'Distract and then go for the kill.' Iain thought ruefully. 'If the world was a different place, she could easily have conquered it.'

"Would you like a crumpet?" She asked innocently, her eyes filling with mirth as he struggled to regain his composure.

"Nay, not that. How are you aware of my plans?" Iain demanded with a scowl.

"Be at ease, Iain. I will not say anything to anyone, not even my daughter. How did I know? You are a Scotsman. Family is the strongest bond to a Highlander and I knew there is no way that your honour would allow you to disregard the slaying of your kin." Lady Glenna replied. "It was only a matter of logic to know that you had plans in place to capture the culprits. My only concern is why you are suddenly enchanted by my only child."

Iain looked away from her, unable to meet her glance.

"There also the matter of your first meeting with Catherine," she continued with a grin, enjoying herself as one of the most powerful Laird's in Scotia squirmed under her appraising stare.

"How?"

"I heard Catherine arrive last night from the ball. She was cursing a blue streak about a pig headed, uncouth cad named Iain. And within a matter of hours, you pay us a visit. I don't believe in coincidences, I questioned Belle before I joined you this morning. I needed to know who this 'Iain' was who had caused my daughter to lose her ladylike manners."

Iain smiled at the image of the tiny red headed whirlwind storming about the room cursing his very existence in her husky voice, her vivid blue eyes flashing with ire and her mouth in a stern line. He could only hope that he faired better at this meeting than he had at their last.

"I trust that there will be no further incidents of that nature," Lady Glenna cautioned, her eyebrow arched in warning.

"Not of that nature," Iain agreed smoothly but not agreeing to any other circumstances.

"You haven't fooled me with your response. One can see why you are in charge of the unity of the clans." She replied with a cool smile and her eyes as fierce as steel. "Whom do you suspect?"

"Lady Glenna-," he began, only to be abruptly halted by a raised hand.

"I refuse to be unaware of the danger that Catherine may be in while within your company. Whom do you suspect?" She demanded her tone as cold as the highlands in the middle of winter.

"You will not believe me," Iain replied trying to sidestep the issue, not wanting to be the one to inform her of Patrick's deceit.

Silence filled the room as the stared at each other, neither willing to cede to the others demands. Until Iain sighed in defeat.

"If it were possible, Lady Glenna, I would recruit you to serve at my side. You could bend even the most stubborn of the clan lairds with that icy stare."

"'Tis a talent that my husband has come to appreciate over the years and one that I've shared with my daughter," she replied, "The name, Laird MacLachan."

"Laird McNeil."

He paused as he waited for the coming explosion that he was sure would follow his revelation. It wasn't everyday that someone accused one's offspring's future husband of being a cold-blooded murderer. After a few moments of tense silence, he glanced her way.

She sat with her eyes closed and her mouth tight in a straight unyielding line. Sensing his gaze, her eyes opened to reveal pools of molten heated steel. Anger radiated from their depths as they met his dark eyes.

"I was always concerned that something seemed odd about Patrick but my husband wished for the match." Lady Glenna spat. "Do you have concrete proof of his infamy?"

"You believe me so easily. How do you know that I don't lie?" Iain asked needing to play the devil's advocate.

"There are some things that one can sense about people. Goodness and evil can either brighten or taint a soul. If one looks closely enough, one can always distinguish what a person is blessed with by looking into their eyes." Glenna commented, "Yours tell me that you can be a hard person to live with, contrary, set in your ways, loyal to all you care about but I see goodness in them as well. You even thought to spare me the pain of Patrick's actions even as I demanded an answer from you."

Iain ran a hand through his short locks of hair before standing to pace in front of her.

"We found a torn piece of the McNeil tartan deep within the heart of my land, it had been caught on some brambles, the thorns had pierced the matter and held it in place just a few feet away from the bodies of my slain family and men." Iain replied emotionlessly, steeling his heart from the pain of his discovery and concentrating on the fire of revenge. "Looking deeper, I found that the poison went further than just Patrick's ambush. I found prove that one of my clan had aided the treachery."

"A betrayal from within," she stated. Her heart ached for the proud warrior in front of her.

"I cannot tell you my plans but I can promise you that I have scheme in place to capture the traitor. Now all I have to do is be patient as things unfold. I don't want Catherine in the middle of this anymore than you do." He promised.

"You changed your mind. At one time, you had every intention of placing her in the middle of what was to come. What changed your mind?" Glenna asked, with a knowing smile. "No lies, Iain, or I shall toss you out and forbid Catherine from seeing you without an armed guard escorting her.

Iain looked ashamed as he revealed his original plan involving Catherine. "At first I had every intention of stealing her away from McNeil by any means, regardless of her feelings or mine."

"But?" She asked, sensing that there was more to his answer.

"Meeting her changed that. There is something about her that I cannot resist. As if only by her side can I be complete. Thoughts of revenge left my heart at the first words she spoke to me." Iain continued honestly but in a perplexed, awed voice. He was unwilling to vex the only person that could further future meetings with Catherine. "It was an unusual experience for me but one of which I cannot rid myself."

She feared what was to come. Patrick was too hot headed and already thought of Catherine as his property, even though she had not yet given him her answer. His pride would be wounded, a dangerous state for any male. They would need to take precautions for all their safety.

Glenna watched as the different emotions flitted across Iain' face. Sadness, pain, anger, hatred, peace and love. He wore his responsibility and honour around him like a thick cloak, his will and strength of character forcing him forward when he wanted nothing more than to lay down and rest from the battle. If Catherine were agreeable to the match, Glenna would have no worries about Iain' treatment towards her.

"I give you my blessing. Treat her well and woo her gently." Glenna warned with a cheeky smirk. "Otherwise, I'll never hold one of my grandchildren in my arms."

Iain flushed under her knowing glance and a choked laugh emerged from his suddenly dry throat. Suddenly, something teased at the edges of his senses and he swung to face the closed door. He didn't know how but he knew that Catherine was on the other side of the doorway, there was an awareness to her presence, as if the sweet scent of her rose perfumed skin penetrated though the oak doors to wrap around him and trap him under her spell.

The door swung open and his angelic beauty strolled in. Her auburn curls cascading about her face, her eyes lowered demurely and the slightest hint of a blush dusted across her porcelain skin. He inhaled sharply, lost in her body's unconscious seductive sway as she made towards him. She lowered herself into a dainty curtsy, still not raising her gaze to his.

His eyes devoured her, forgetting for a moment Lady Glenna's presence in the room with them. The room melted away until all he saw was the petit figure before him. As if from a distance he heard her murmur his name and managed to pull himself from her siren's spell, if only for a few minutes.

"Hello Lady Catherine. Please, there's no need for such formalities among friends." Iain mocked, masking his desire for her by teasing her.

He watched in amusement as her head snapped up and her eyes spat fire at him as she recognized him.

"You!"

She rose quickly and stood before him, a dainty hissing kitten. Her expressive eyes promised all manners of retribution, and if he was reading her glare correctly, all of them painful.

"Catherine, you never mentioned that you knew Laird MacLachan. When did you meet?" Lady Glenna inquired, winking slyly at Iain behind Catherine's back.

Iain bit back a laugh at the mischievous imp in front of him.

"At the ball last night," Catherine muttered, impaling him with her dagger-like gaze as she saw his smiling visage. Her heartbeat quickened as his smile deepened and his dimples became more pronounced.

He bowed and raised her hand to his lips and slowly brushing them over the trembling flesh. "Please, Lady Catherine, after all the time we spent together, you should call me Iain and I perhaps may call you Catherine." His tone implying a more intimate connection between them.

She gasped at his forwardness, her jaw clenched and she looked towards her mother, as if asking for intervention at his rude behaviour. Her mother shook her head and gestured for her to deal with him, confident of her abilities to put him in his place.

"You may call me Lady Lindsay, as I have not given you permission to address me in a more intimate manner." Catherine replied coolly, sliding her hand away from his. "As I said to you before we know naught about each other and it would not be proper or wise, given your actions from last night as an example for me to follow."

Everything about him oozed charm and seductiveness, a lure that she fought desperately despite her promise to Belle. He stood before her wearing snug breeches that hugged his muscular frame in a rich charcoal hue. He worn a lose fitting cream coloured shirt with none of those silly ties that the ton had taken to wearing recently. One of his buttons had opened and a tiniest hint of flesh was revealed to her interested eyes. A jacket in the same shade as his breeches completed his ensemble. His riding gloves and hat rested on the settee beside her mother. Silently she sighed as every move he made, pulled the cloth tighter along his body. She began to blush fiercely at her thoughts and chastised herself sternly.

"Catherine, perhaps a stroll about the grounds will allow you to get to know Laird MacLachan better," her mother suggested, smiling at Catherine's horrified gaze.

"Nay," Catherine responded strongly, struggling to deny the attraction she felt standing a few feet away from him. "I refuse to take one step with him. I have already learned enough about his ways already. Besides, I am feeling a bit under the weather. The cool night air last night did not agree with me."

"I never took you for a coward, lass." Iain taunted, delighting in her response and disposition. "I'll be on my best behaviour."

Catherine sniffed at that statement recalling his 'best behaviour' from last night.

Lady Glenna shook her head at their antics, at this rate they would never get together and she could kiss her dreams of grandchildren farewell.

"Catherine, show the Laird the maze." She order, her voice brooking no room for argument.

"Very well, Mother." She replied sweetly. "Laird Maclachan, pray remember how the evening ended, if you decide to get any ideas."

"Of course, Lady Lindsay," he muttered, inwardly cringing in pain. "I expected no less after my boorish behaviour."

Catherine flounced out the door, not waiting to be escorted. Without turning around, she called back to him impatiently, as if eager to finish this unwanted chore, "Are you coming?"

"Aye," Iain mumbled, watching her curves as she walked away from him. His eyes locked on the swell of her hips and the pert curve of her buttocks.

"Iain," Lady Glenna called out sweetly, tearing his thoughts away from Catherine's delectable body.

"My Lady?"

"Don't do anything too improper," she advised in a whisper, sending him a cheeky wink and chuckling at his astonished expression.

"Aye, my Lady." Iain agreed as a wolfish smile spreading across his face.

Meanwhile, Catherine had no idea of the plotting occurring behind her back as she waited impatiently for his arrival.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimers: See Chapter One

* * *

Chapter Six

* * *

As Catherine led him into the brightly hued garden, she silently fumed at him and his arrogant manners. How dare he just waltz in and expect her to fall under his charms, as if nothing had happened? Her promise to Belle momentarily forgotten, she thought about this latest revelation of his deception. His manly pride would no doubt be unbearable now that he had the full support of her mother in his schemes to get her alone. She could only image his behavior from this point on.

He walked a few steps behind her, sensing that she needed that space before she would be able to face him. His eyes lovingly followed the curves of her body as her full skirt swished with each vigorous step she took, resting a little longer on the plump curve of her buttocks. She stopped abruptly and spun to glare at him as she noted his appraisal.

"Is this the next step in your grand seduction plot?" Catherine demanded icily, her hands clenched tightly into fists. "Coming into my home and charming my parents into giving you leave to come call upon me. Presenting yourself to my mother as a gentleman when we both know what a cad you are."

"No, lass," Iain replied, ignoring her sniff of disbelief at his denial. "I realize that our first encounter has manifested into many doubts about my character and that my behavior left much to be desired, but I was sincere in all my words to you."

"Sincere? Mayhap, you should be saying that you were insincere, my lord. You spoke to me as if I was a trollop that you found walking the streets of Edinburgh and one that had you requested to serve you for the evening." Catherine retorted harshly, watching him closely as he flinched at her words. She turned her back on him again and walked away from him, needing to escape his presence. He had the power to overwhelm her senses and lull her anger into acceptance by sheer power of his charisma and magnetism.

"I meant every word."

"Tsk, tsk. Fool me once, shame on you but fool me twice and shame on me," Catherine replied mockingly, looking out at the vast lawn filled with blooms.

"Catherine," he called out softly, his voice urging her to turn and face him, his heart quickened as she reluctantly turned to face him. "I know that I've given you no reason to trust me but I ask that you only hear what I have to say and I pray that you heed my warning."

She stood before him with her arms crossed and her brows arched in skeptism. Her posture clearly telling him what she thought he could do with his warning and if he wanted to have his say, he'd best say it quickly and to the point. She'd had enough of his games and was at the end of her patience.

"I know that you are engaged to marry Patrick but there are some things that you don't know about him. Things that he's kept hidden from society, for if people found out he would be ruined and imprisoned," Iain explained, his onyx eyes sweeping over her face, trying to see acceptance, scorn or perhaps disbelief at his words.

"Are you suggesting that you know my fiancé better than his future bride?" She demanded, ignoring the tiny voice at the back of her mind that mocked her words.

"Yes, I know something that would alter your perceptions of your dear fiancé. My only concern is how to tell you."

"You didn't seem to lack a tongue last night, my Lord. Perhaps you should attempt to use it more precisely instead of allowing it to wag about, not getting to the point that you wish to impart to me." Catherine replied sweetly, satisfaction flaring through her at his clenching jaw.

"Mayhap, I am concerned that you would think that this is nothing more than another step in my diabolical plot to steal you away from the McNeil. Is it true concern for your safety or do I simply want to claim you for myself? Which is it, lass?" He challenged with a small smile.

"I don't know what it could be. It could be all that or something more that I have no knowledge of," she replied primly.

"Or perhaps you're willing to hear what I have to say for personal reasons. Could it be that you are hesitating over your soon to be nuptials?"

Catherine glared at him. How dare he presume so much?

"Well, instead of skirting around the issue, you should just tell me and let me be the judge. After all, Laird MacLachan , 'tis my life not yours," Catherine responded, walking away from him to sit on one of the benches under the shade of a large weeping willow.

As she sat, she arranged the many layers of her skirt to flow neatly to the ground, once satisfied with the result she clasped her hands tightly upon her lap. Catherine looked up at him, not surprised that he had followed her across the terrace and was standing before her. His masculine beauty was outlined by the golden aura of the mid afternoon sun. His flesh appear rich copper and she wanted nothing more than to reach up and run her fingers along the sharp lines of his jaw, lightly brush her thumb along his lips and see if the were as soft as they looked from where she sat.

Catherine shook her head ruefully at the dual emotions that rushed through her mind. On one hand she was furious at him and his lies but on the other, she wanted nothing more than to be held within his embrace as she had been last evening. She suppressed a grin as Iain stood stiffly before her in the uncomfortable silence.

"How well do you know him, Catherine?" He asked again, needing to hear her answer, "Truthfully."

"You're point being?" She stubbornly refused to answer his query.

"I have proof that he is a murderer. Did you know that about him?" Iain demanded, determined to break through her stubbornness. He knelt before her, wisely keeping one leg up incase she chose to maim him again. "I believe that he is responsible for the death of my family."

Catherine inhaled sharply at his accusation. She had always felt ill at ease around Patrick; as if something deep inside was warning her to not lower her defenses while she was with him. She had always felt dirty after being in his presence. His eyes would sweep over her body as if she already belonged to him and his gaze upon her had made her want to cringe and run off to scrub her body clean to rid herself of his distasteful stare. She had tried to rid herself of those feelings, telling herself that it was her unfamiliarity with him that made her feel that way.

However, could she trust Iain?

'He had deceived her at their first meeting. Not exactly a mark in his favor.' She mused silently and thought about how she felt around him. It was so hard to distinguish the racing emotions that he evoked within her.

Anger, desire, exasperation, peace, fury… love.

Deep in her heart, regardless of how quickly and impossible it was, she was compelled to trust him. This instant connection was throwing her off stride. She had never been one to follow her heart but instead she'd trusted her logic to steer her in the right direction. Catherine had always searched for answers and proof, something tangible not just hearsay. Iain could be telling the truth but she would base her decisions on facts not flights of fancy.

"Do you have proof that he committed the crime?"

"A piece of the McNeil Clan tartan was found mere yards away from my slain kin."

"That could have been planted there by his enemies," Catherine replied calmly. "You have nothing more substantial that links Patrick to having been there?"

"Catherine, we patrol my land twice a day. The chances of an intruder entering an area and escaping undetected are extremely slim," Iain retorted.

"But not impossible," she argued, not willing to condemn someone on so little evidence. "You've already found Patrick guilty without looking any further, haven't you?"

"Have you ever felt something deep inside you, telling you when something is right? An instinct so overpowering that regardless of what you do to move away from that thought or belief, it pulls at you to come back to it? A feeling that as you move away from your original thought grows and becomes unsettled until you can only feel at peace by returning to your first belief?" Iain asked, running an agitated hand through is dark locks.

"Without proof, no one will believe your wild accusations. They'll simply regard you as a man, driven mad with grief over the loss of his family," she placed her hands to rest lightly upon his rock hard shoulders and began to knead away the tension, trying to ease away the strain and calm the angry warrior before her.

"Why must you be so logical and analytical? Can't you accept what your soul is saying is the truth?" Iain asked, leaning into her soothing touch.

"You're thinking with your heart and your anger, Iain," she murmured quietly. "You need to think this through clearly without your emotions, however justified, clouding your judgment and overpowering your thoughts."

"I can't just shut down my feelings and pretend that everything is fine, Catherine. I am not an automaton. You may be able to do so but the fire of my anger has consumed me and I am lost within its flame. Each night I awaken to the nightmare of my sister's last words echoing in my ear and the feel her last exhale upon my cheek." Iain said, his voice harsh and cracking with each word uttered. "I hear her pleading with me with me to live for me and each night I turn away from her last wishes and vow to punish those responsible. I wake in the darkness and fall back into an uneasy sleep. The dreams repeat throughout the night, until I am mad from seeing her die in my arms."

During his tale, Catherine had reached for his hand and entwined her fingers with his, offering him her strength as she felt him falter mid way through his recital. He clung to her grasp, as if she were a lifeline in the rough seas of his inner turmoil.

"Iain, I don't mean for you to ignore what you are feeling, but before taking any action, you must step back and think of the consequences. Your spirit cries out for justice but if you simply lash out without proof, you are no better than those whom you seek." Catherine murmured, her freed hand slid down his shoulders and she laid it to rest over his heart.

They stood quietly for the next few minutes. Iain, lost in thought as his thumb tenderly mapped the flesh of her hand, while she counted the beats of his heart. With her hand pressed against his chest she felt his pulse quicken under her touch.

"I know that this is against your nature but all I ask is that you wait before going forward," she pleaded.

Iain gazed down at her and his breath caught as he stared upon her classic beauty. However, it was her eyes that held him captive. They glittered brighter than the bluest sapphire and shone with a hidden fire, within their depths he saw more than she had meant for him to see. His lips curved into a pleased smile and he brought their joined hands to his lips, pressing affectionate kisses upon the back of her palm.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven for my uncouth behaviour?" Iain inquired, laughing at the frown she sent his way.

"Not completely. You could have approached me with Thomas at your side and avoided getting hurt in the backlash of my temper. You men to seem to like to make things more complicated than they need to be," Catherine replied, pulling her hand free and leaning away from him.

"Forgive me, lass. I promise next time to consult with you," he offered.

She rolled her eyes at his obvious ruse, cursing the times they lived in and the warrior creed that all Highlanders followed. Yes, he would inform her but only after he had wrapped everything up and taken care of the situation.

"Iain, do you really want to start this new phase between us like this?" Catherine demanded in exasperation, daring him to deny the accusation she had thrown his way. "I am not your typical lass who would fall for your carefully crafted words."

"You're an intelligent, caring, spirited and beautiful goddess," Iain murmured, placing his arms on either side of her on the bench and caging her in place.

"Flattery will get you naught," she chided in a breathy tone, as the heat of his body began to sear her through her dress. Shyly, she glanced up at him and was mesmerized by the emotions that he allowed her to see from those deep, dark pools. Hesitantly, she leaned forward and slowly brushed her lips over his, the softest of kisses.

"What is it about you that draws me to your side?" She whispered, ending the butterfly kiss but letting her lips brush against his with each word she spoke aloud. "My mind is cautioning me that this is happening too soon, that this is nothing more than a whirlwind of emotions that can only end in grief for both of us but I'm helpless to pull myself away from you. You've enchanted me and I'm hopelessly entangled within your spell."

"'Tis the other way around, Catherine, you are a siren who has captivated this mere mortal warrior and made him yearn to be at your side forever. I know that we have just met but you've created a thirst within me that only you can quench." Iain answered passionately before wrapping his arms around her willow like waist and reclaiming her lips in a sweet, tender kiss. His tongue teased her lips, begging entrance.

"Iain," she murmured, reluctantly pulling away, "Wait. We can't. Not until I've spoken with Patrick and put a stop to the engagement."

"You are not to speak to him, Catherine. You can not comprehend what he is and what he is capable of doing," Iain snapped harshly as he scowled down at her determined features.

"I am not a child to be told what I can and can not do. Even if we were betrothed, you would still not have that right over me." Catherine replied in a cool voice.

"Damn it, Catherine. Why must you be so stubborn over this matter?" Iain exploded.

"Damn it, Iain. Why must you be so contrary over this matter?" She mimicked, poking his hard chest with a sharp finger.

"Can't you just accept my words of caution and allow your father and me to deal with Patrick," he growled, continuing as if she had not mocked him over his protective behaviour.

"No, I gave you the benefit of the doubt and I must do the same with Patrick. I can't paint him with a black brush without proof of his infamy. Surely, you can understand why I must do this. I do believe you, Iain but I need to see the proof for myself," Catherine retorted stubbornly. She huffed under her breath at the mulish look he cast her. "I will contact you as soon as I speak with him, if that eases your mind, but I will speak with him."

"Promise me that you will not met with him outside of your home," Iain begged, his mind racing at how Patrick would react to her announcement.

"I would not meet with him alone! What type of lady do you think I am? That you immediately picture me strolling into some gentlemen's abode without a chaperon about." Catherine demanded, aggrieved at his defamation of her.

"You're out with me and I don't see a chaperon anywhere near us," Iain grumbled.

"Iain, look about you," Catherine suggested.

Iain looked around him, his eyes squinting from the glare of the bright sun. He saw in the distance two soldiers standing off to the side, both with their hands resting on the hilt of their swords, as they watched his every move. To their left, a gardener trimmed the perfectly maintained hedges and scrapped at the perfectly groomed lawn. He spun to face the terrace and saw three maids, one sweeping the path to the garden, another dusting the tables and chairs and the last beating a rug as if to cleanse it of dust, if not for the lack of debris floating about her. Even in the distance between them, he could feel all those eyes trained upon him. He turned back to face her, his cheeks dusky with embarrassment and saw her struggling to keep from laughing aloud.

"Did you honestly think that my mother would send me out here in your company completely unchaperoned, especially in light of what happened last night?" She asked incredulously, laughter erupting from her at his sheepish expression. "She's a never-ending matchmaker but not a simpleton in the manners of men."

"How far could I go before they feel that I am crossing the line, Catherine?" He murmured his rich voice dropping into a teasing purr.

"Are you planning on seducing me on the lawns before their eyes?" She quipped, winking at him.

He shook his head at her antics and decided to press forward with their game. Softly, he whispered to her,

"**If I profane with my unworthiest hand**

**This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:**

**My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand**

**To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."(1)**

"Could I hold your petal soft hand within mine, caressing it gently until I felt it trembling for more? Could I press a kiss into your palm, my lips following each line carved there by the god's, as if within your closed palm, you held all of my love?" Iain asked, as he followed his words by deed.

Catherine gasped as his lips grazed over her suddenly sensitive flesh. It felt as if all her nerves were concentrated on the area where his lips were exploring. She fought to control her shallow breathing as a rush of desire flooded her senses, leaving her trembling and aching in its powerful wake. Her free hand cupped his face allowing her fingertips to slide over his jaw and she shuddered as she felt the raspy stubble beneath her stroking hand.

"Iain," she pleaded, unsure if she was begging him for something more or if she begging him to stop his tantalizing caress.

"Would they rush to stop me, if I pulled you close and gazed into your vivid blue eyes, full of longing and desire before I…" Iain continued, stunning her with a dimpled smile as he ignored her half-hearted protest.

She leaned into his muscular frame, needing his strength as each word he uttered wore down her resistance, leaving her clinging weakly to him, a vision of for all to see, the glow of love reflecting from her.

"Before you…?" She moaned, closing her eyes and letting her imagination soar at his unfinished sentence.

"Before I return you back to your mother's side," Iain replied with a devilish grin and a not so convincing innocent look.

"Return me to my mother's side? The day I believe those words, is the day that the world has come to an end," she replied, she glanced up and caught the mischievous look upon his face and was determined to find out what he had truly meant to say. "Please, tell me."

He burst out laughing at her cajoling tone and her pouting lips.

"One day, Catherine but I think I've pressed my luck enough for one day," he said, brushing back a strand of hair that had escaped. "Besides, I see your mother gesturing at us to return. Perhaps, the next time we meet, I'll finish saying what I had started, but for now I'll leave it to your ample imagination."

"Fine, but be warned that one day the shoe will be on the other foot," Catherine replied in a haughty voice and a slow wink.

"I'm counting the hours," he answered in the softest of purrs. "Thank you for a pleasant afternoon and a chance to redeem myself in your eyes, Catherine."

"Who said that you were forgiven? I do not recall saying that," she teased, pushing him lightly away from her and standing tall over his kneeling figure.

"Considering that in this encounter I faired better than our last, I'm presuming that all has been forgotten and forgiven," he retorted, flashing boyish grin at her.

"You do you know what they say when you assume anything, Iain, and besides, there's still time, if you care for a repeat of that experience," Catherine offered, her eyes glittering with unconcealed mirth..

"Nay, I think once was enough," Iain muttered, "Shall we join your mother before you plot my demise any further."

He stood and offered her his arm, which she readily took. Murmuring quietly, they walked ago the path, lost in their own world and forgetting, if only briefly, that they both need to deal with Patrick's presence in their lives.

* * *

FYI - (1) These words are from Romeo and Juliet, during their first meeting together. 

Like it? Hate it? Drop me a line.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimers: See Chapter One**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

Upon Iain's departure, after their tête-à-tête, Catherine turned to her mother. She was eager to confide in her regarding her decision to call off her nuptials to Patrick, but instead was presented with a piece of parchment and gently nudged in the direction of the antique oak writing table in the family parlor.

Catherine glanced at her mother, her eyes filled with unspoken questions before comprehending her mother's silent approval. Catherine's delighted laughter echoed through the hall and she pulled her mother close for an enthusiastic embrace. Her heart beat wildly in her chest at this chance to realize her dreams with Iain. It felt like her head was in the clouds as she imagined belonging completely to him, not just in thoughts but in body, heart and witnessed before all of their peers.

"What about Father?" Catherine asked, pulling away from her mother. She knew her father had given his word of honor to Patrick that she would accept his proposal, and her father would never break his word, no matter what the reasons. In his mind, a man was only as good as his word. Her heart plunged at the thought of her father forbidding her from seeing Iain again and forcing her to go through with the engagement.

Catherine had always looked up to her father and strived to meet his standards. At his knee, she had learned that a person must always honor their promises, treat everyone, regardless of their station in life, as equals. To always continue to grow in their pursuit of knowledge and search for answers to their questions. He had challenged her to break through the chains that held her back in society, forcing those around her to see her as more then a decorative accessory and helped her become a person that refused to submit meekly to anyone.

Catherine knew that if he forbade their union, she would not be able to honor his wishes. Her heart ached at the thought of betraying her father's promise to Patrick.

"Don't fash, Catherine." Lady Glenda murmured, recognizing the look of panic that spread across her daughter's face before it was suppressed behind a stoic mask. "Leave speaking with your father to me. You know how gruff and stubborn he can be at times. Especially when things start to go awry."

"Aye," Catherine whispered, lowering her head to stare at the ground.

"But, I know that both he and I only wish for you to be happy," Glenda stated calmly, raising her Catherine's face and staring into her beloved child's worried blue eyes.

Glenda's mind harked back to the memory of Catherine when she was but a lass of six summers. The image superimposed itself over the form of Catherine as she stood before her now. The years melted away and for a brief moment Glenda saw not a fully-grown woman about to start her life with the man she loved, but the image of her wee lass in one of her most cherished memories. Catherine's fiery red hair in tiny ringlets cascaded down her back, reaching to her knees, and dressed in swirling gown of white cotton that was marred with patches of grass stains, she danced without a care around the still figure of her father. He stood tall, pretending to be a mighty elm tree as Catherine had declared him to be, and each circle she made caused the gown flare into a bell shape, showing off the embroidered flowers upon the hem. The lilac bow around her waist quickly came undone and its strings dragged along the grass. Her small face smiled widely, and her baby teeth gleamed pearly white in the bright sun. Her grin showed the gap of a recently lost tooth and her childish giggles filled the air. The remembered picture of innocent joy warmed her mother's heart.

With a sharp breath, Glenda focused on the future and her daughter's distressed visage. She wished that Catherine was once again that innocent child whom she could shelter against the world but knew she would never deny Catherine her chance for true love.

"Catherine, if you feel that Iain is the one with whom you can have a fulfilling life, and the only man you can trust with your heart, soul and well being, then we give you our blessing." Glenda replied, her voice husky with emotion at the thought of soon losing her daughter. "Now, write your letter to Patrick, so you can end that and start your new future."

With her mother's words, a weight lifted from Catherine, leaving in its wake a delightful giddiness. She knew that there were no promises between Iain and herself, but now they would have a chance to explore what their feelings were for each other. 'Even if it was under the watchful eye of her mother.' Catherine thought ruefully.

* * *

A week had passed since Iain and Catherine's conversation in the garden. Only seven days, but it had left the Lindsay household filled with joy and happiness as they watched the whirlwind courtship between their Lady and Laird MacLachlan. From the servants to the family, an air of anticipation swept them along and they waited with bated breaths for the next step in the romance.

Catherine woke slowly and spent the first few minutes of the new dawn remembering the dreams she'd had during the night. She flushed at the memories of the previous night.

The dream had begun with her and Iain going for an innocent carriage drive along the country road. They barely paid any mind to the passing beauty of the country side. Instead their gazes were firmly fixed upon each other, finding that a more pleasant pastime than staring at the endless hills of green.

Iain had pulled her close, sharing his warmth and protecting her from the crisp morning breeze. She had burrowed close to him as she was feeling a bit chilled and breathed deep his masculine scent mixed with the sharp scent of pine. Catherine sighed in contentment, at peace by his side. Shyly, she had looked up and her eyes had widened in shock at the look of hunger within Iain's eyes as they glanced down into hers.

Slowly, as if scared to startle her, he leaned down and pressed his lips softly to hers. Pulling away in case his attentions were unwanted he waited for her response. She reached up, and her hand tangled in his rich locks her fingers pulling them free of the tie that held it back. His hair flew loosely to frame his square jaw and brushed lightly against her chin. She laughed at the sensation and he grinned down at her. Catherine pulled him closer and shyly kissed him.

As the seconds passed, their kisses became more and more heated. Catherine felt Iain's hand slide around her waist and continue to slowly caress a path up her back, leaving her shivering in his arms.

Her moan of delight roused her and ended the dream before she could further explore her feelings. In the bright light of the day, Catherine was shocked at her wanton behavior but also intrigued. The conflicting feelings left her unsettled and tense. She sensed that there was more to the dreams and scolded herself for craving them but each night they came and instead of dreading her actions, she was beginning to enjoy the decadent dreams.

Iain had come to call later that day and she found that it took all her fortitude not blush fiercely under his scrutiny, fearing that he would know her thoughts with just one glance.

Everyday a small token of Iain's affection had been given to her, his messenger having been instructed to wait until she had personally accepted his gift.

The first day, he sent her a colorful bouquet of posies, roses and wild flowers, tied together with a lace ribbon. The note attached said that the flowers were a reminder of all their garden trysts.

On the second day, a sketch that he had drawn of her had arrived. Iain had managed to capture her exasperation, her crooked smile and the tilt of her nose as she looked off in the distance at an unseen figure.

The third day, a luxurious shawl in a rich shade of turquoise had been delivered to her. The shawl was soft to the touch and she brushed it along her face, her eyes closing at the texture of the fabric. A note had fallen to the ground and she quickly picked it up.

"**Beloved,**

**Imagine that this shawl are my hands, and each time you wear it or caress it,**

**think of my hands, one day, following the same path.**

**Iain"**

'He was still a cad.' She thought, pretending to be vexed at his words but cherishing them nonetheless.

The fourth day, he sent her a leather bound book of Lord Byron's poetry. She had mentioned the previous day, that there was nothing she enjoyed more than sitting in the shade of the large willow tree while reading poetry. She had not expected him remember her words, as they were just a causal statement but her heart quickened at how much he listened to what she had to say.

On the fifth day, a delicate cameo arrived. Looking closely at it, she had gasped in awe. The figure carved upon it was hers. Her eyes filled with tears at his gift.

On the sixth day, a single semi-opened peace rose had arrived with a note from Iain tied around the thornless stem.

"**Catherine,**

**As the rose opens to reveal its inner petals,**

**I can only hope that our love will continue to blossom and grow.**

**Iain"**

However, it was his gift on the seventh day that touched her the most. On the seventh day, he gave her the key to his heart and she gave him hers in return.

With each day that passed, she learned something new about him and found herself falling a little deeper in love with him. She had not yet said the words aloud to him.

This was not to say that she wasn't aware of his flaws.

No, Iain made the most contrary, stubborn and overprotective male pale in comparison.

The only time that his temper flared and these traits came to the forefront was when they spoke of her meeting with Patrick. Then he became like a growling, injured beast that no one could get near.

They would go from acting like a couple enthralled with each other to shouting opponents in a matter of seconds. Neither of them willing to call a truce.

Her mother had commented after one such shouting match had ended, that their voices had been shrill enough to wake the dead and with a strong glare suggested that perhaps they should avoid the topic of Patrick, unless they wished to end their visit for the day.

Quietly, they murmured to each other their apologizes, neither wanting to leave each other so soon.

They would sit a little ways from her mother, far enough to speak without anyone overhearing but still close that no one would comment on their improper conduct.

Whenever she thought he was distracted and looking elsewhere, she would lovingly memorize his every gesture and every expression, drinking in the sheer masculine beauty before her. The smallest thing that he did caused her pulse to race.

She was captivated by his dimpled grin, stunned by his adoring gaze, breathless with each movement of his lips and completely mesmerized by each movement of his hand as he entwined it with her.

Catherine knew that she sounded like a lass speaking of her first affair of the heart but being with Iain made her feel as if she was only now truly discovering what love was about. The one thing that cast a dark shadow over them was Patrick's constant presence in the background.

Her message, to Patrick had been sent by messenger the very first day that Iain had come to the house. The messenger confirmed that Laird McNeill had received her letter but four days passed before she received a response.

She thought back to her letter, trying to see if anything within that suggested that she was not waiting for his reply...

**"Laird McNeill,**

**I have given some thought to your proposal of marriage and I wish to**

**speak with you in person as quickly as possible to discuss the matter.**

**I pray for you speedy response.**

**Regards,**

**Lady Catherine Lindsay"**

Patrick had finally responded to her letter, stating that could not come for about a week, as he was otherwise occupied. He would grace her with a visit as soon as his commitments had been met.

Catherine had stared at his response, her mouth tightening in a scowl at his laissez-faire attitude towards her. He had brushed aside her request as if she was a bothersome pest that was nothing more than an inconvenience to him. She now knew from his response that he thought of her as already his and not worth spending time in impressing her with his courtly manners.

The slight had only caused her dislike for him to deepen and she couldn't wait until his arrival to knock the arrogance from him.

* * *

Catherine was helping sort the linens when she received the message that Patrick had arrived and was demanding to speak with her at once.

Catherine felt her temper start to soar. After making her wait nearly two weeks, he had the gall to order her to come to his side like a trained pup. She breathed deeply, calming herself before the coming confrontation. Patrick was a prideful man and her refusal to marry him would no doubt vex him.

Just before walking into the parlor, Catherine pasted a smile upon her face and swung the door open to reveal her soon to be ex-fiancé. She suppressed a shudder of revulsion at the sight of him. She did not know if it was because of the knowledge that Iain had imparted regarding Patrick's questionable activities, or if it was her own feelings towards him after his blatant disregard for her, but she was instinctively on guard.

Patrick pompously stood in the middle of the small parlor, his brown eyes not bothering to hide their arrogance and contempt for his surroundings. His large hawk like nose protruded from his face and stood out from his sharply angled features. A sneer had etched a permanent scar upon small, thin lips, and his muddy brown hair was pulled back tightly, pulling his forehead higher than nature had intended. It drew unwarranted attention to his pallid yet splotchy complexion.

Patrick was a short man, standing barely two inches taller than her petite frame and he had a large, bloated stomach, evidence of a man who enjoyed and indulged his liquor to a great degree.

Catherine thanked the spirits for sending Iain to her, as she looked at the alternative before her. She knew that it would have been a horrible existence that she would have doomed herself to. Life with Patrick would have destroyed her within months if not weeks.

"Lady Catherine," Patrick greeted her, not bothering to bow before her as customs dedicated.

"Laird McNeill, thank you for your prompt reply to my message," Catherine replied, refusing to curtsy before him.

"The demands on a Laird's time are many, Lady Catherine. Something that you'll soon discover when we are wed," Patrick promised in an annoying voice. "I suggest that we marry within the month. You are no longer a young miss that needs to be courted, and besides, I need an heir right away. The longer I wait, the less chance your spinster's body would provide me the healthy male I need. Call you father in and let us sign the contract."

Catherine stared at him, and as the seconds passed, the less she wished to be near him. Her eyes narrowed in contempt at his words. She was to become a brood mare in his eyes. 'What a delightful concept.' She thought sarcastically. The sooner she said her piece the sooner he would be gone from her life.

"That is the reason that I wished to speak with you," Catherine replied smoothly, refusing to let him see how angry his words had made her.

"What? Surely, you're not having any misses' airs. You knew before what you were getting into." Patrick retorted, dismissing what he thought were her concerns.

"I've decided that we are not a suitable match," Catherine announced, watching him closely. "I thank you for the offer but I must decline the honor of being your intended bride."

Patrick paused and took a step closer to her. The strong scent of hard liquor, sweat and his last meal wafted towards her. Catherine felt her stomach lurch from the combination of strong odors.

"What did you say?" Patrick asked angrily, not believing what she had just said to him.

"I said, I don't wish to marry you but I thank you for the honor," Catherine repeated, breathing through her mouth to avoid passing out from his stench.

"You don't have an option, Catherine," Patrick sneered, "Your father gave me his word that you'd be mine and I'm not going to let your stupid little wants get in the way. This is about what I want, and I want you. You'd best resign yourself to being mine, I don't let go of things that have been offered to me. The banns will be read this week and I will have you as my bride by the end of this month."

"I'll never agree to marry you. I'll tell you no at the altar before witness," Catherine spat, her eyes flashing with ire at his proclamation. "I'm not going to go along with your wants. You may want me but I do not want you."

"Give it time. Soon, you'll be begging for my touch," Patrick replied, his finger tracing the slim line of her jaw.

"I somehow doubt that," Catherine said, trying not to cringe from his disgusting touch upon her. "Don't touch me."

Patrick let out a sharp laugh and grabbed hold of her arms. His grip continued to tighten around the flesh, bruising her as he shook her hard. Determined to make her cry out in pain and give into his greater strength.

"As my intended bride, it's within my right to touch you wherever I desire," Patrick countered, reaching out with one hand grasping her breast and twisting it hard, feeling her flinch from his painful touch. "We'll have such fun together once we're wed, Catherine."

"Let go of me before I call for Father's guards to run you through," Catherine ordered in an icy voice.

"Of course, beloved," Patrick mocked. "I'll see you when the banns are read."

"Guards!" Catherine called out, her patience gone.

A group of three soldiers rushed in, their swords drawn and ready to protect their mistress. "My lady, what are you're wishes?"

"Escort Laird McNeill, from our land." Catherine ordered, turning to walk out the door. Reaching it, she paused and looked back at most detestable human on earth. "I meant what I said. It'll be a cold day in hell before I marry the likes of you. Don't come here again, the next time you will not fair so well in the outcome."

Catherine walked calmly out the door, ignoring Patrick's angry shouts. A sound to her left caused her to start slightly before relaxing when she saw her mother's concerned visage.

"Mama," she whispered, rushing into her comforting arms. She felt violated, sick and her body ached from Patrick's cruel touch. She wanted nothing more than to bathe away the feeling that he had left behind.

"Shh, it's alright," Glenda murmured soothingly, "I'm here. He's gone and it's over."

'No, it's not,' Catherine thought, remembering the look in his eyes as he mauled her.

* * *

Patrick stood before the roaring fire, watching it consume the saplings that he had just feed into the blaze. He held a half filled crystal brandy glass in his hand. All around him was a scene of destruction. Chairs and tables had been overturned, vases and glasses shattered, pictures ripped to shreds and ink splatters marred the walls. His mind was still filled with a red haze of anger and he panted for breath in the midst of his exhaustion after wreaking carnage within the room.

Catherine had dared to summon him to inform him of her wishes to dissolve their coming union. His bride-to-be had picked a bad time to form a backbone and to try to call off the engagement. She was a spirited lass, it was too bad that spirit was a trait he rarely enjoyed in his bitches. He would enjoy breaking her.

His temper flared as he remembered her defiant stare, and her refusal to curtsy before him. Her revulsion written plainly for him to see, but it was her lack of fear that grated on his mind. He found her contempt for him only increased his desire to make her his. His lips twisted in a cruel smile as he pictured her at his mercy. She would be on her knees before him, shaking in fear and begging him to do whatever he wished to her, whether it was a kiss or a blow across the face.

His mind drifted into his dark fantasies, each more depraved than the last.

A knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Go away," he shouted, swirling the amber liquid and once again returning his thoughts to Catherine's submission.

The door swung slowly open and Patrick turned with a roar of anger, hurling the glass at it. The glass shattered upon impact, splattering small shards of crystal and amber liquid over the floor, wall and figure of the servant entering the room. He watched dispassionately as the servant fell before him, trembling uncontrollably, his eyes pleading for forgiveness.

"Why have you disturbed me after I left specific orders that I was not to be bothered this evening?" Patrick asked slowly. "Do you need another lesson in how to be a proper servant to the McNeill Laird?"

"No… no, my lord," the servant stammered, curling into a tight ball as he saw the leather clad feet approaching his crouched position. He knew better than to try to escape the Laird's wrath and all he could so was suppress a frightened whimper as one of the boots nudged his thigh.

"Then why are you here?" Patrick demanded in a sadistic voice.

"The MacLachlan ally has arrived," the servant whispered, through clenched teeth, every muscle in his body tense as he waited for his master's orders.

"I'll be there in a moment," Patrick ordered, before delivering a swift kick against the servant's ribs. He smirked at the sound of bones cracking under the force of his blow and at the moan of pain that his servant was unable to conceal. "Don't come in here without my consent or next time you'll have more to worry about than broken ribs. Now move! Bring some refreshments. After all we don't want to keep anyone waiting, do we?"

Patrick exited the room, uncaring of the curled figure whimpering in pain. His thoughts now concentrated on the final stage of his plan to ruin MacLachlan.

Walking into his study, he watched his ally paced agitatedly before him, scowling and muttering under his breath, Patrick could barely make out the words but Iain's name was uttered frequently along with a handful curses.

"You're late."

"Patrols have been stepped up since the last time we spoke. I had to time it so that I didn't arouse any suspicion. Besides, you are not my commander to order me to appear at your side on a whim," the traitor replied arrogantly.

"No, but I'm the man that's helping you kill your commander. Loyalty to him at this point, after helping murder his family, is a little hypocritical, don't you think?" Patrick asked coldly. "And in case you've forgotten, I also have the power to crush your future ambitions and I have no qualms about killing you on the spot, if that was my wish. This agreement is more a beneficial to you than I."

"Perhaps in the past that may have been true but I would not say that is completely true now," he replied in a cocky voice.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing much, Laird McNeill," he taunted, enjoying the power he had over Patrick in that moment. "How is your bride?"

"What does she have to do with our agreement to eliminate Iain?" Patrick growled, quickly losing patience with the cat and mouse game.

"I just find it interesting that rumors of your engagement being called off are filtering through the ranks."

"Go on."

"Especially, since she's been seen cavorting with Laird Iain MacLachlan for nearly two weeks." He taunted, twisting the knife deeper, "He had his hands all over your future bride and his lips all over her flesh."

Patrick's outraged roar filled the house, its echo resonating for minutes after it was uttered.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimers: See Chapter One.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

"Any news, Iain?" Thomas inquired, looking about him at the bustle of activity in the courtyard before turning to face the stern visage of his friend.

"Aye, my suspicions were confirmed early today. I planted false information in my study about my plans and had one of the maids watch the doorway for anyone entering while I was away," Iain replied, elation and sorrow battling within him at the revelation of who had slain his kin.

"From your tone, it was who you thought it to be," Thomas stated, slapping a hand on Iain's back in support and camaraderie. "When will you grab hold of him for the magistrate to deal with?"

Iain looked towards the gate and saw the in the distance a lone figure riding towards them. A dark cloak flapping in the wind as he rode swiftly towards them.

All the years of friendship and kinship gone with one vengeful act. The reasons were yet unknown to Iain, but he would demand an answer before the day was out. He recalled their youth as they chased after all the lasses, each bragging about which one the the neighbouring laird's daughter, Mary found more pleasing to her eye. Their dual groans of pain as they enjoyed a stiff drink of whiskey after a long and battering practice session under Iain father's tutelage. Memory upon memory flashed through Iain's mind.

"He comes back from his treachery as we speak," Iain said softly, ignoring the sharp sting of betrayal as he watched one of his closest friends smiled at them after returning from plotting with his foe.

With a silent gesture, Iain ordered the capture of his second in command. He watched dispassionately as realization entered Gabriel's eyes that his game had been revealed. He watched as Gabriel fought futilely against his comrades, using every means, fair or foul, to escape their iron grasps. Only to admit defeat as they dragged him towards Iain's looming figure.

The two stared at each other. One gaze demanding as the other was indifferent, neither backing away from the other. Iain was the first to break the silence between them. He needed to find peace and remove the guilt and rage that had been a part of him since that fateful morning.

"You turned against your clan and my parents. They always treated you as if you were a second son. What foul deed did they commit to earn your malcontent?" Iain demanded, his rage tearing his spirit apart as his betrayer stood in front of him smirking. "Tell me! What did any of us do to make you turn your back upon your kin?"

"Kin, you honestly think that the left over scraps of affection that you threw my way made us family?" Gabriel replied with a dry laugh. "When I asked to be handfasted to your precious sister, you all quickly showed me how unimportant I was in your 'family'."

"All this deceit because they dared to refuse your courtship?" Iain asked in disbelief.

"It was not the only thing that prompted me to seek the leadership but it did help me see clearly how you've always looked down upon us in contempt. We are nothing to you, merely pawns that you move about on a playing field of your choosing," Gabriel accused. "You have been turning us from brave warriors into milksops. You drag your clan into these endless alliances that can only weaken us and makes us easy prey to the other clans that would attack us without a warning. Next you'll be wanting us to bow down before the English and her court," he spat angrily. "You do not deserve to be Laird."

"I don't need to explain my reasons to someone who uses treachery to gain their rewards," Iain growled, everything within him aching to rend his second in command apart with his bare hands.

"The lord of the manor has decreed once again," Gabriel mocked.

"If you were not content with my leadership, you could have challenged me, but instead you allied yourself with a murderer and a thief," Iain answered back coldly, his face becoming like granite as he rested his hand on the hilt of the sword strapped onto his waist.

"Aye, a laird that hates you even more than I, with plots more twisted and diabolical than I could ever have contrived on my own," Gabriel boasted. "At first, he was going to capture your sister and keep her locked within the catacombs beneath castle, a pretty plaything that he could rut, beat and torture when the whim came upon him. You should really thank me, Iain, I managed to dissuade him from his plan. After all, I did warn him that she was a haughty tart and who knows how many have lain –"

Iain's fist soared through the air, the movement so quickly made that it was a blur to those watching. It slammed into Gabriel's face with a satisfying crunch, his nose breaking under the force of the blow. Blood pounded in Iain's ears, drowning out the words shouted to him by his men. He found himself falling deeper into a dark, fury-filled abyss, everything within him screaming for him to avenge those within his heart who had been lost. Blow after blow followed as Iain released his rage into the smiling visage of the man who had once been his trusted friend.

Through the fog that engulfed him, Iain felt arms wrapping around his neck and torso and he struggled against their hold as they pulled him away from the collapsing figure.

"Iain!" Thomas shouted, his arms straining and bulging as he wrenched Iain away from his prey. "Stop! You need him able to speak."

Iain nodded abruptly and gestured to be released, his breathing heavy and sweat dripping down his face.

"Get him out of my sight and into the gallows," Iain growled as he clenched his fists, fighting the heady urge that tempted him to continue to throttle the traitor before him. "I'll be down shortly with the magistrate to question him."

Gabriel let out a short laugh, his voice rich with pain and mockery. "I doubt that, Iain. You may find yourself a little busy to continue your thirst for gratification." He sneered, spitting blood and salvia unto the dust cobblestones.

"I'll make the time," Iain promised.

"Are you sure you wish to dally with me all afternoon? The longer you take with me, the more time Patrick will have to capture his harlot bride," Gabriel taunted, relishing the sudden pallor of the men surrounding him. "Going after an engaged woman, Iain? Patrick was devastated, almost overcome with emotion that his sweet, virginal bride had become your whore. What happened to your highly prized honour?"

"Men, see that my horse is ready and someone take that cur away," Iain ordered, running towards the stable, his heart beating furiously at the danger Catherine was now trapped within. "Saddle up and throw open the gates. My Lady is depending upon all of us to rescue her from the McNeil. To arms!"

The courtyard explode in a flurry of movement as his men took swiftly to their mounts, their swords at the ready and their rousing battle cries echoing in the crisp Highland air.

Iain and Thomas led the troops forward, galloping out the gates to confront the mad man who had plagued them, when Thomas suddenly cried out.

Iain watched as he halted and dismounted, running towards what appeared to be a pile of discarded rags left at the end of the road way.

"Belle!" Thomas gasped as knelt beside her battered body.

Belle had been deposited at Iain's gate, tossed aside as if she were nothing more than rubbish. Her long locks had maliciously been shorn, whoever had attacked her had left her with ragged strands soaked with her perspiration and blood. Her delicate features swollen from a brutal beating. Her nose and mouth trailing blood onto the earth beneath her. Her nails torn to the quick and the bodice of her cream gown had been ripped from shoulder to waist, exposing her bruised breasts to them.

"Please, don't let her be dead," Thomas prayed, pleading with the Almighty as his hands swept gingerly over her shattered body, searching desperately for her heartbeat. He exhaled sharply in relief when she uttered a pain filled moan. He removed his jacket and laid it over her trembling form, his heart crying out as her agonized moan shattered the air at the slight weight upon her, "Hush, love, I'm here. Forgive me."

"Th..omas," Belle rasped, choking back the pain that screamed through her body. She wanted nothing more than to fall into the oblivion that called to her, an oblivion that promised peace and a release from the pain pulsing throughout her. She was safe within Thomas's embrace and he would hold back the nightmares that would soon overtake her. "Help…"

"It's alright, Belle, you're safe," Thomas whispered, brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen over to conceal her pain filled eyes. His hands trembled at the sight of her flinching away from his gentle touch. "Don't speak, love. Rest."

"No… message…Cath…" Belle croaked through chattering teeth, fighting against the pain that was slowly consuming her fragile body.

"Slowly lass," Iain replied softly. "What is it that you need to impart?"

"Catherine… taken…by Patrick," she gasped as tears cascaded down her cheeks.

'_No! God, please no.'_ Iain begged silently.

"How?" Iain demanded, bending down beside her.

Thomas glared at him and pushed him away from Belle. Angry at Iain's demands of her, but knowing that time was slowly ticking away. "Can't you wait until she's safe within the manor and no longer gracing the dirty earth?" Thomas spat, anger and worry raged within him. He cared deeply for Catherine but at this moment his wife lay broken and mayhap dying, her blood soaking the ground around her and staining it crimson.

"He's mad...Thomas," Belle whispered, her words and her breathing becoming more ragged as the seconds passed, "He'll hurt her without a second thought. He was livid and without remorse, watching as they beat me, forcing Catherine to watch, laughing out loud as she begged him to make them stop."

"What happened after I left today, Belle?" Iain asked urgently, fighting the instincts within him that were crying out to him to run after Catherine before it was too late. Until he heard Belle's recounting of her ordeal, it would be for naught if he didn't know were to look for them.

"We had gone to the dress maker…"

* * *

**Beginning of Flashback**

"Catherine, you haven't told me of your encounter with Patrick. Did it go well?" Belle asked as she pulled a bolt of emerald green chiffon from the counter top and held it before her. Her lips pursed in a moue of dislike and she placed it back on the counter with a small scowl.

"Let's just say that, Patrick did not accept my declination of his proposal very well," Catherine responded, unconsciously rubbing her arms to remove the memory of his touch upon her body.

* * *

She had been wearing long sleeved and high cut gowns recently after discovering the bands of purple and blue bruises long her upper arms and the finger like bruises long the curve of her breast. His revolting touch had marred her milky flesh, leaving behind tender to the touch flesh.

Catherine had attempted to conceal her injuries from Iain but a heated embrace had forced her hand. He had been kissing her, a slow sweet kiss that was quickly overtaking them. His hands had been caressing her back, sweeping long the slender curves to come to a rest upon her arms. His hands wrapped around her arms to pull her closer, unknowingly tightening on her bruises. Catherine had struggled to hold back a low moan but Iain pulled away from her as he felt her flinch against him. Seeing her guilty expression beneath his worried stare, he demanded to know what was wrong.

Catherine had tried to dismiss it as nothing, looking down at the hardwood floors, refusing to meet his gaze. She heard him sigh deeply before his hand caressed her cheek and gently turned her to face him, his dark eyes full of concern for her well-being.

She quietly responded to his query, waiting for the explosion to come from her admission. No one was more surprised when one second Iain was by her side and the next he was almost out the salon door. Catherine had rushed after him, calling out his name until he paused.

"When were you going to tell me, Catherine? What happened to your promise?" Iain demanded icily, refusing to glance back. "Why must you be so stubborn about this? You are not alone anymore, I've vowed to be at your side, but the minute I'm not here, something happens and you don't tell me about it. Why, Catherine?"

Catherine walked to stand behind him before wrapping her arms about him. She laid her face on the stiff muscles of his back, breathing deeply his earthy aroma that eased her distressed thoughts.

"It has nothing to do with my stubbornness, Iain. I didn't want to worry you and have you rushing out of here while in a temper," Catherine replied soothingly. "I was going to tell you."

Iain stood stiffly within her embrace, anger radiating from him, not even the feel of her pressed against him relieved the tension he emitted.

"Say something, please," she pleaded with him.

"Don't hide anything like this from me again. You don't know what he is capable of," Iain replied gruffly, resting his hand over her clasped fingers over his waist.

"I know what he's capable of and it frightens me, Iain," she whispered, tightening her hold on him. "He's insane, and I couldn't risk losing you."

"You're not going to lose me but this is the end of the lies, on both our parts." Iain asked, turning to face her and gathering her close to his chest. "Promise me."

"I promise," Catherine responded, cuddling deeper against him.

They stood locked together, each drawing strength from the other, both thinking of a future free of Patrick.

* * *

"Oh?" Belle inquired. "What did he do?"

"Let us just say that he is not the most forgiving of men and had to be escorted out by the soldiers. How about this fabric, Belle? It feels so soft and it is so rich in colour," Catherine replied, eager to turn the conversation away from Patrick and to more pleasing matters. She held up a bolt of silk in a vibrant shade of amber.

"Alright, I'll cease with my questions and move onto more interesting topics," Belle replied, flashing Catherine a wicked grin and glancing at her sideways.

Catherine arched her brow at her antics and prepared herself for a full-scale invasion.

"How is Iain?"

"As far as I am aware Iain is well," Catherine replied, her lips turning up into a crooked smile.

"And?" Belle demanded, refusing to accept her bland response.

"And what, Belle?" Catherine asked innocently.

"You know exactly what, Catherine. If you think you're getting out of answering all of my questions, then you, my dearest cousin, are very much mistaken," Belle announced, tugging Catherine towards the reclining chairs, "Now start talking."

**End of Flashback**

* * *

"I teased her about you, as she did when I meet Thomas and my head was in the clouds. She still teases me about how I could barely string together two sentences without uttering his name." Belle said smiling through the pain, "She is more than a cousin to me. She has always been my confidante and my cherished sister of the heart. Bring her back, safe and sound. Please, Iain."

"Thomas, stay here with your lady wife," Iain ordered, looking down at the brave, battered lass that had once been glowing with energy and sass. "I'll go with the men. You are needed more here than at my side in this confrontation."

"No!" Belle burst out, her voice weak and wheezing, " Thomas, don't let him go without you. 'Tis what Patrick wants. I'll be fine but he'll need you there. Go!"

Thomas leaned down, his lips brushing tenderly across hers, "I love you."

"Even now?" Belle asked hesitantly, tears filling her eyes.

"More than ever," Thomas replied.

"Go. I'll be waiting for you to return."

They waited as the manor servants raised her carefully into a cart and rode through the manor gates. Nodding to each other, they quickly mounted their steeds and rode out to confront the man who threatened their loved ones.

* * *

Catherine pounded the locked oak door, her fists reddening and becoming raw from each blow she delivered against the unyielding surface. Her bruised, dirty stained face was flushed with anger and her hair cascaded about her face, to lie about her shoulders and back. Enmeshed within her auburn locks, were dry leaves and twigs. It was all in tangled messy disarray.

Her gown was dusty from her rough ride at the bottom of the carriage and her hemline torn. Dirty footprints marred the simple fabric and the lace edging had been ripped aside to trail along behind her with each step she took.

Upon her arrival, Patrick had dragged her from the carriage by her hair, watching as she fell from the carriage floor to the hard cobblestones without anything to cushion her landing. Catherine had cried out as her ribs protested at the rough treatment and her wrist took the full brunt of her weight upon the small bones. Patrick had only watched her, a cruel, victorious smirk never leaving his lips as he marched in front of her before ordering a frightened servant to bring her inside.

Catherine gave one last futile blow that caused her hand to throb before walking away, her mind in turmoil over the events of the last few hours.

Images of her last moments with Belle bombarded her mind in an endless horrifying montage. As the carriage was traveling at full speed, Patrick had opened the door and gestured towards his companion to remove Belle from their midst. Belle had weakly struggled against him, unwilling to back down from their tyranny, her strength depleted from her beating at Patrick's companion's hands. With a malicious laugh, he tossed Belle out of the carriage as if she were no more than soiled bathwater.

The sounds of Belle's struggles echoed tauntingly within Catherine's mind. Over and over, each pain filled moan, the sound of flesh hitting flesh and the final gasp before Belle had been tossed away, assaulted Catherine and mocked her for not protecting her better.

Catherine prayed that someone had found her before it was too late, and brushed back tears that threatened to fall. She could not allow herself to be weakened by her guilt and remorse; she had to find a means of escape from the luxurious prison in which she was trapped.

Her eyes swept over the room to rest on the mauve curtains. A thin beam of light shone through the partial opened fabric. She rushed forward and flung them apart, hoping to find a possible escape route. Her head fell forward as she found an iron barred window.

The sound of the door opening caused her to spin about and glare at the invading silhouette.

"I see that you found my little surprise," Patrick asked smugly, "Did you honesty think that I would sequester somewhere where you would be able to flee from me? You had best learn quickly that you are mine until the moment I decide I no longer wish to have you underfoot."

Catherine stood still, every muscle tense as he began to approach her.

"I must say you look stunning today, Catherine, being swept away by your affianced has no doubt brought out your beauty. Your cheeks are flushed, your hair is tumbling down your shoulders and your gown is torn allowing me to glimpse the flesh that will soon be mine."

"I belong to no one," Catherine replied coldly, "least of all you."

Patrick walked towards her, his stride slow and snakelike. Catherine breathed deeply to calm her nervousness at his approach. She refused to back down before him and give him more power over her. She needed to keep her emotions under control and not lash out without thinking, she had no way of knowing what he would do if she provoked him.

"I'm a reasonable man, Catherine. If you would honor the vow that you gave, accept your circumstances and your status as my bride, I'm sure we can come to a satisfactory agreement that would please me," Patrick said stopping before her and running his hand lightly over her jaw. His depraved innuendo dripping from each word he spoke, sending chills of revulsion through her body.

His rough fingers slid from her jaw to trace a pattern down her neck, coming to a stop over the curves of her bosom. His broken nails scraped the delicate flesh, leaving behind thin lines of blood on the creamy surface.

Catherine knocked his hand away from her, feeling ill from his touch. "Don't touch me," Catherine hissed in a low voice, not hiding her disgust for him.

Patrick's reaction to her defiance was swift as he backhanded her across the cheek, her head snapping to the side. Catherine cried out and stumbled back, her hand clutching at her throbbing, heated face. She wet her dry lips, her tongue tasting the sharp metallic tang of blood.

"I command you, not the other way around," Patrick growled, glaring at the proud figure that was refusing to bow down to his whims. "I am the man here, you are merely my bitch who hasn't learned that her place is at her master's feet."

Catherine laughed aloud at him.

"I caution you to watch your tongue, else you may find yourself without it," Patrick threatened. "Something that I would hate to have done as I know I would enjoy it immensely in the coming future."

"I know what you truly are behind the façade you show your peers," Catherine continued, ignoring his threat.

"And what is that?" Patrick asked in disinterest as he glanced down at her heaving chest, his eyes darkening with lust with each deep breath she took.

"You are nothing more than a bully. You threaten others into doing your dirty work. You order beatings as calmly as you ask for a drink of water. You stand in the shadows, ambushing innocent people and then callously murdering them for your advancement." Catherine spat, shaking in anger at the smile that spread across Patrick's visage and in the moment she wanted nothing more than to wipe it clean of its arrogant sneer.

"How well you know me, my dear." Patrick replied, pulling her close to him, enjoying as she twisted against him in her futile attempt to break free.

"You are without honor or morals to try and force me to accept you after all you've done to those I love. You are a weak, defective shell of a man," Catherine continued, her temper overruling her common sense. "Iain is more a man in just his finger tip than you are in your entire being."

"Ahhh Iain, the supposed hero in our little melodrama, a man with such outstanding qualities that he consorts with my fiancé behind my back, turning you from my virginal bride into his pet whore."

"I would rather be his harlot, than be chained to you in wedlock," Catherine countered.

"After today, it won't matter," Patrick replied brushing aside her comment and smiling cruelly. "Once I've finished consummating our union, no one will dare to nestle with you. I will keep you trapped within these walls until you are carrying my child. No one will take you from me."

"Never! I will fight you with all the strength within me. You'll never claim me," Catherine lashed out through clenched teeth, her body tensing in anticipation of his attack.

"You must face the reality of this situation. You have no choice," Patrick retorted with a sinister grin. "Don't worry, my dear, after you've lain with me, you'll come to appreciate my touch, the touch of a real man not a milksop like your pathetic Iain."

"You call yourself a man? Your delusions of your charms are vastly overrated. I'll never see you for anything other than a brute and a cowardly troll." Catherine spat, seconds later berating herself for taunting the devil before her.

Catherine watched Patrick's features twist into a vicious mask as her words struck home, and she could only gasp aloud as his hands sped towards her.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

AN: Thank you everyone that has been following this story, for your feedback and your patience. Here's the last chapter and I hope you've enjoyed the adventure.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

The warriors rode swiftly, aware that each moment they tarried would only bring more danger to Lady Catherine. They followed their Laird in silence, watching the determination fill his soul and press him onward towards his Lady.

They knew that their Laird would only accept one possible outcome from today's venture, Lady Catherine's safe return and MacNeil's complete defeat for all the crimes that he had committed against the MacLachlan clan.

The setting sun behind them cast its reddish-amber beams down upon them. The glow seemed to wrap around Iain and his steed. The cascading rays illuminating them with an eerie glow, an almost hellish shine that could strike fear into the hearts of even the most loyal of the clan. Man and beast blurred together, pressing onward in an almost inhuman pace that the soldiers strove to follow.

Nary was a word spoken and the only sound was the brisk thud of hoofs thundering across the grassy plain.

Iain paid his men no mind, his every thought centered on saving Catherine from Patrick. His jaw clenched tightly in an effort to hold back his anguished cry. His eyes darkened and became hard as steel in his fury.

Their mounts quickly approached MacNeil's holdings and at Iain's upheld hand they slowed to a trot. The gates were open and unmanned. The men looked about, searching the surroundings for signs of a trap that would be sprung upon them once they entered the MacNeil's domain.

Iain ignored their caution and flew through the gates, he cared not for his own safety, the fire within him spurred him forward, as if his will would overcome any deceit that was concealed beyond the large gates.

As if from a distance, he heard his men call out to him, cautioning him to stop and wait for them. He pressed forward and heard his soldiers follow suit, they fell closely behind him to guard his flank. It was their loyalty to their Laird that urged them to follow. Even though they were unsure if the next moments would be their last, they would go where he led. They would show him the same regard that he had shown them for so many years.

In the distance, they saw guards facing towards them, watching their impending invasion into their home.

He drew to a stop before the wall of MacNeil soldiers that blocked his entrance into Patrick domicile. Iain stared down at them, his glare condemning any who would dare to stand in his way. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready if they chose to attack.

The MacNeil commander stepped forward and knelt before him, laying down his scabbard and his sword. His men followed suit.

"Forgive us, Laird MacLachlan. We were not aware of our Laird's dishonorable conduct towards you and your family." The commander called out from his knelt position before Iain. "We are loyal to our clan but we have unknowingly let a monster rule it. It was recently that we were made aware of his infamy towards you and towards members of our own clan."

"I wish no harm to the innocent. I merely seek Lady Lindsay," Iain stated, dismounting and walking towards the soldier. "I give you my word that as long as no blade is lifted against mine, I shall not attack. Rise from the ground and tell me where she is being kept."

"I wish I could aid you, my Laird. We looked for her once we received word that he had taken her but we cannot find her within these walls." The commander replied shaking his head in defeat. "Nor can we locate MacNeil. It is as if he has vanished from this earth."

Iain's hands clenched around the hilt of his blade and eyes blazing he turned to them all. "Search every where. Leave no stone unturned, no door unopened. Find her."

"My Laird," a trembling voice called out in a whimper that resonated with pain, "There's a hidden room on the second floor. 'Tis hidden behind a large tapestry embroidered with the figure of a Lady upon a pure white horse. The door is locked but should be easy to break through. You'll find you're Lady within this inner sanctum."

Iain turned in the direction of the person who had spoken. His breath caught as he viewed the image before him.

A servant stood hunched over, an arm wrapped around his mid section, his face swollen and bruised from a recent beating. His tattered clothes were mired with perspiration, blood and what appeared to be ashes from a hearth.

"Thank you. Thomas, take care of his injuries." Iain ordered as he rushed into the manor, unheeding of the shouts from his men to wait for them.

He ran swiftly up the stairs, searching for the image that the servant had described. He found it, near the end of the large hallway. Grasping hold of it, he tore it free, exposing the hidden doorway. Rushing towards it, he thrust his shoulder hard into the wood, hearing it splinter from the force of his blow but still not opening completely. He rushed forward again and shattered the door and knocking it free from one of its hinges, so that it swayed from the force of his blow.

He drew his sword and stepped into Patrick inner sanctuary in time to see McNeil reaching for Catherine's neck, even as she tried to back away from him. Not able escape as he had backed her into a wall.

"McNeil, hurt her and I'll ensure that you're death is as painful as I can possibly make it," Iain stated grimly.

Patrick grabbed hold of Catherine and pushed her forward, using her body as a shield against Iain's attack. He pulled her close and twisted her arm cruelly behind her back, his other hand wrapping around her slender throat, tightening briefly in warning as she struggled in his arms.

Patrick looked frantically about him. How had Iain entered his domain? Where were his men? The cowards had no doubt yielded when Iain had descended upon them. They would pay for their lapse in duty to their leader once he dealt with this trollop and her mongrel lover.

"The valiant warrior arrives," Patrick sneered, his lips brushing against the soft shell of her earlobe. His beady eyes taunted Iain as he toyed with Catherine. Casting Iain a mocking smile, he nibbled on the delicate flesh and nuzzled his fleshy cheek along her jaw, his rough stubble marring the white skin and leaving a red rash everywhere he touched.

Catherine closed her eyes and fought to hold back the bile rising within her at the feel of his body on hers. He followed a path that only Iain had traveled with loving kisses and touches, and instinctively, she arched away from him, whimpering in pain as he wrenched her arm further.

Iain watched helplessly as Catherine was manhandled and mauled. Any movement that he made would only enrage Patrick into hurting her more.

"Be still, Catherine," he urged softly, even as the warrior within him roared at him to attack and end this now. Everything within him screamed at him to rush forward and run the bastard through, ending his tyranny and purging him from their lives forever.

Catherine looked at him, determination and trust in her gaze. Her trust steadied him and beat back the demon within him, knowing that brute force alone would not end this.

"Yes, bitch. Be still," Patrick growled into her ear. "Unlike Iain, I have no compunction about hurting you to teach you obedience. Mayhap a broken bone will make you heed my orders more willingly."

At the threat, Iain stepped forward and raised his blade.

Patrick laughed out loud, knowing that as long as he held Catherine, he was safe from Iain's wrath. His hand tightened around her neck. The air filled with her choked gasps and moans, as he blocked her breath passage.

Catherine started to become light-headed from the lack of air, her nails dug into Patrick's arms, scrapping at the flesh in her effort to escape his deathly grasp.

"Alright! You have the upper hand," Iain roared. "Cease before you kill her. 'Tis me that you want dead, not her."

"Mayhap I want both of you dead. It's just a matter of whom I should dispatch first." Patrick retorted, easing his grip and stroking her convulsing throat. His eyes glittered in desire as she shuddered against him, her breasts rubbing against the arm imprisoning her, with each deep breath she took, "Did you think I want your used goods?"

Catherine shook her head to clear away the blurry vision and looked towards Iain. The helplessness, anger and anguish in his features were nearly her undoing. Any move that he made towards her, Patrick would delight in hurting her. They were locked in stalemate. Patrick would never give her up and Iain was too concerned for her safety to risk rushing forward.

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, her eyes conveyed her escape plan to Iain and she mouthed silently to him, 'I love you.'

Before he could protest her actions, she stamped down on Patrick arch and thrust her free elbow into his protruding stomach. She felt his start of surprise and felt his breath rushed over the back of her neck at the blow. Twisting sharply away from him, she broke free from his weakened grasp and raced forward to Iain's side.

Iain placed her behind him, away from any chance of Patrick regaining her. Sheathing his sword, he turned to face the coward that had haunted his life for the last few months and rushed forward. Iain grasped hold of Patrick from his fallen position on the floor and flung him back into the wall. Glancing into Patrick unrepentant eyes, bloodlust overtook Iain as he thought of the lives that had been taken or broken by this poor excuse of a man. He began to pound blow after blow into Patrick's body. Each powerful hit that struck was for those that McNeil had harmed, his parents, his sister, Belle and Catherine.

"Iain," Catherine called out, reaching forward to lay a gentle hand over his sweat soaked back. He paused but did not glance back at her, all of his attention was on Patrick who had slid down the wall to lie on the ground unmoving. "Stop! This is not who you are. Don't let Patrick turn you into him. I am safe. You came in time before he could hurt me. Don't do something you'll regret, not when we are so close to being together, my love."

Iain heard her words but a part of him wished for the final revenge against Patrick. To eradicate him from their midst and deny him life, as Patrick had done with his sister and parents. But Catherine was his voice of reason, her gently murmured words soothed and calmed the anger within him.

Iain nudged McNeil's leg, paying no heed to the pitiful whimper that Patrick uttered. "I spare you your life. Death would be too light a punishment for the crimes that you have committed. Nothing will give me more pleasure than knowing that you are trapped within a cage that you cannot escape, and that you'll spend the rest of your life surrounded by vermin and filth. Denied the riches and abundances that you have accrued through foul means,"

He turned and walked to take hold of Catherine in his arms, he lead her from the room into the cavernous hall.

His men stood lining the walls, their weapons at the ready if needed to defend their Laird.

"Thomas, get him ready for the Magistrate," Iain commanded. "We'll take him upon our departure and thus we'll know that he cannot escape from his deeds."

Thomas looked sharply at him, his gaze filled with questions and finally understanding. Iain nodded at him and acknowledged the silent thanks that filled Thomas's visage.

As Iain walked Catherine to the long stairs, muffled cries echoed in the distance, justice had been served for all those who had been abused by Patrick's tyranny.

* * *

They walked into the empty courtyard and stood in the rays of the setting sun, basking in the freedom that they had won. He held her tightly to his chest, his hands resting upon her hips as Catherine stroked his tense shoulders and back. Both needed to hold onto one another, aware of how close they had come to losing it all.

Iain brushed a tender kiss against her bruised cheek and swollen lip.

"Catherine, you know that I care deeply for you and would never change anything about you," Iain began to say, smiling as she peeked up at him through half lowered lids. "But I pray that you'll never do anything so dangerous and impulsive again. I don't think that my heart could take it and I would have to punish you for your disobedient ways." He announced as he playfully smacked her bottom.

Catherine gasped loudly and placed her hands upon her hips, her eyes flashing with amusement, "Iain! You dared to spank me?"

"Aye, and there's plenty more where that came from if you continue to court danger," Iain growled.

"Pfft," she retorted, smiling at him devilishly and batting her lashes coquettishly at him. Raising her hand to his muscular chest, her fingers began to play with the buttons of his shirt, "Does that mean that I can do other things instead?"

"Catherine," he groaned, gazing tenderly at her heart shaped face "I'm so glad that you're safe. I don't know if I could have survived if something…" His voice trailed off, unwilling to utter his greatest fears aloud, afraid that fate would hear his words and conspire to take her from him.

"Hush, I'm safe and soon I'll be your wife," Catherine murmured tenderly.

"My beloved wife," Iain corrected her, laying his cheek against the auburn crown of her hair and breathing deeply her rich scent. "Forever and a day will I love you, Catherine."

"Aye, my beloved husband, for all eternity," Catherine vowed.

They embraced and sealed their vow with the sweetest of kisses, the first of their new life together.

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

**Two Lovers torn apart before their time**

**Two Hearts incomplete and lonely**

**Crying out in sorrow for the other**

**Two Souls searching for each other**

**Love found once again but forsaken**

**When logic rules, the heart weakens**

**Destroying all that once was and what should once again be**

**Foolishness abounds and the spirit slowly withers,**

**As they ache for the other part of themselves.**

**Remember what you once had and almost lost**

**Remember, **

**Before it is gone forever**

* * *

'Remember what you lost…'

Kathryn woke with a startled gasp as the words echoed within her mind. She laid one hand over her rapidly beating heart as the other reached up to gently touch her lips, the sensation of smooth lips brushing against hers still vivid in her mind.

She lay back down on her bed and pulled the soft, beige blanket over her body, wanting the warmth and comfort that it provided in the wake of her vivid dream. With a soft sigh, she called for half-lights and she rose from her bed, walking slowly towards her replicator. She was wide-awake and still had about three hours before she needed to be up for her next duty shift.

"Computer coffee - no Chakotay herbal blend 14," she ordered, waiting for the soothing cup of tea to appear before her.

Cradling it in her hands, she lay back on the chaise and blew into the steamy mug. As she sat in the semi darkness, she replayed her dream in her mind. Never had she experience one with so much detail. It was almost as if she had been there or had been acting it out on the Holodeck.

"It was only a dream," she whispered, aching for the happiness Catherine had found in the arms of Iain.

A bright flash filled the air and a familiar sardonic voice blared out.

"Not this time, Kathy."

Kathryn groaned and raised a hand to her brow, already feeling a migraine coming with Q's unwelcome appearance in her quarters. 'Q. I should have known he'd have something to do with this.'

"What do you want, Q?" She grumbled, not in the mood to deal with any of his schemes.

"Dearest Kathy, is that any way to greet the father of your favorite godson?" Q asked in a hurt tone.

"Q, I don't have the patentice at 0300 to play little word games with you," Kathryn replied, rolling her eyes at his ploy for sympathy. "Why did you send me that dream and more importantly, what the hell do you want?"

Q sat down close beside her, his thigh flush against hers. Kathryn looked down at it and raised her eyes to look into his. She arched her brow, her face promising him all manner of torture if he didn't stop touching her. She had to stifle a chuckle as he pouted and slid away from her.

"The question should be 'What did you do to piss off Eros?'" Q retorted in a petulant voice.

"Eros? Eros is a Greek myth. He doesn't exist, Q." Kathryn said in an exasperated voice.

"For your information, he does." Q corrected her. "See all the interesting things that you're missing. You should have taken me up on my offer, sweetest Kathy. There's still time," Q growled playfully, turning towards her and grasping her hand in his. "Be mine!"

"As I told you before, I'm busy for the next fifty or sixty years," Kathryn replied, pulling free of his grasp. "Just tell me the facts."

"Alright then, Eros and his mate, Psyche are members of an ancient race. They are the cosmic matchmakers of all universes and temporal planes. No one is foolish enough to get in their way," Q informed her, before continuing in a disgusted voice, "Bunch of lovey-dovey immortals that spend their days cooing at each other, when their not out messing in other people's lives by giving them a red-head bride and a son, but I digress. Lately though, they've been a little well… enraged. Psyche's screeches are echoing throughout the Continuum and giving everyone there a bloody headache. They're so close to descending on you and taking matters into their own hands."

"And your point is?" Kathryn inquired.

"My point is that Eros was coming here to take care of things before I convinced him to let me have a go at it. If I fail, which of course I won't, you'll have bigger problems than me to deal with," Q said cockily.

"Why?"

"Because you and Chuckles have broken the Cosmic Rule," Q exclaimed, his noise crinkling in disgust as he uttered his pet name for Chakotay. "Although, I don't know what you see in that big ape. He doesn't have my class, my breeding and my omnipotent powers."

"Q," she said his name, a warning clearly being uttered.

"But that's beside the point. The reason that I'm here is because not even the Q mess around with those two, unless they want to be mated to a single-celled organism for a millennium or two."

"What does your little story have to do with Chakotay and I? What did we do that was so horrible that we now have Eros and you, breathing down our necks?" Kathryn spat, angry at being a pawn at the hands of omnipotent beings.

"It's want you didn't do," Q stated in a matter of fact tone. "I'll give you two words, Kathy. New Earth."

She paled and looked away for him, unwilling to let him see how deeply those words cut into her. She had buried her feelings and memories of that time deep within her heart, unwilling to bring them to the surface and acknowledge what she had abandoned so long ago.

Q watched her, sensing her hurt and anguish but pressing on regardless. He was here it make her see reason. Unlike Chakotay, who didn't want to upset the carefully constructed friendship they had created since New Earth, Q refused to let her hide behind her mask any longer, forcing her to recognize the gift that she had been given but had foolishly cast aside. The consequences would be too devastating to his favorite mortal.

"That was your first chance to fulfill your destiny together and you both threw it away. It was the last thing that Chakotay wanted to do, but to ease your burdens he withdrew his love, knowing that you would see it as another responsibility and another burden on this long voyage."

He watched her frame tensing with each word he spoke but she remained silent.

"The second chance was after the shuttle crash. By the way you really shouldn't let Commander Crash pilot anymore of those, it's not as if you have an unending supply floating around in your docking bay." Q cautioned. "Where was I? Oh, I remember now. He carried you to safety, he breathed life back into you, his tears fell upon you and his soul cried out as you lay dying in his arms. We heard his sorrow in the Continuum, a feeling so heart wrenching that it touched even the most uncaring of Q's. Yet, you still refused to give in. You stood before him surrounded by the beauty of Lake George, and quoted rules and regulations."

"That's no one's business but our own," Kathryn replied in a husky voice. "We're best friends and…."

"You were meant to be lovers," Q cut in, losing his patience with her stubbornness." Kathy, I'm going to break the rules, just this once for you."

"I don't want any favors from you, Q. They always come with a price," Kathryn murmured, still looking away from him.

Q looked at her profile. She seemed so strong and larger than life. As if the injustice of her life didn't faze her but if you looked closely, you could see the lines of weariness and worry that were becoming etched into her visage. Only one other person had noticed but soon, there would be no one there to care for her, if things didn't change.

'If she didn't allow herself to change,' he corrected himself silently.

"In less than a year, you'll lose Chakotay," Q stated, ignoring her words.

"What?" She cried, spinning around to look at him, pain searing though her.

"Not to death, not to a passing alien, not to leaving him behind on a planet that he chooses, but to your pet drone," Q said, "That's right, Kathy. You pushed him from you for so long that he finally leaves you for Seven. She begins to develop your mannerisms and your sense of humor, she learns how to mimic your personality and she falls for Chakotay. She's like a balm to his hurting soul, his shelter from the slights of the day and since he can't have you, he'll settle for her. In his mind, it's almost like having you. You've been her mentor in her quest to regain her humanity.

You'll marry them on a planet that looks like an unfound paradise. Standing amid the trees and the wild flowers, you'll be reminded of New Earth. Moreover, as you hear him say his vows to her, your heart cries out in denial. You see the understanding and reconization in his eyes as he remembers another time and place."

Kathryn's ragged breathing began to fill the air and she struggled to hold onto her unraveling emotions as Q continued to speak.

"You'll watch from the side lines as their relationship grows and she blossoms under his care but you'll always feel that pull towards each other until one day it's severed forever."

Kathryn rose and made her way to look at the passing stars," Why?" She rasped, agony filling her.

"You'll send Seven on an away mission and she doesn't come back alive. You'll watch her die in his arms, her blood soaking the ground and his uniform. With her last breath, you'll see hatred overtake the love in his gaze as he looks upon you. In that instant, your souls rend apart, dooming you both to an endless eternity of loneliness and rage."

"No," she whispered.

"Yes, for centuries you've met and fallen in love, an unbroken cycle that strengthens with each reincarnation. You're past is a rich tapestry filled with knowledge that filters into each new life. Only once was this cycle almost broken before it's time," Q continued.

"With Iain and Catherine," Kathryn replied, her hand covering her throat as she remembered the feel of Patrick's hands on her body, his fingers tightening and cutting off her breath before she broke free.

"Yes, if things had happened differently. With Catherine's death, he wouldn't have cared what happened to him. His family was dead and his love was dead, he would have ridden out into battle uncaring if he lived or died. Eagerly courting death until the day he found it. He would die alone with a peaceful smile on his lips, uttering your name with his last breath, with the knowledge that he would find you again and that you would be together at last in the next world." Q came to a finish.

Kathryn glanced back at him, "Why are you being so…" She paused at loss on how to word her question.

"Divinely Godlike in my revelations? Caring? Nice? Don't get used to it, Kathy," Q sneered, before a slight smile crept along his curled lips. "I like you, and as much as I think that Neanderthal doesn't deserve you, the Q don't come between soul mates. Eros can be such a pain in the ass when he's pissed off."

She did not reply to comments, her mind warring with her feelings. Was duty really a valid substitute for love? Could she knowingly send Chakotay into Seven's waiting arms? Was she willing to lose him forever out of fear?

No, she wasn't willing to lose him. She felt light headed and her heartbeat quickened. For the first time in many years she felt the weight of command evaporate from her.

"That's what I thought. Fight for your man and for everyone's sake, keep him away from blondes," Q cried out triumphantly. "Adieu, Kathy. I'll be back for the birth of your first child, Chérie."

With a snap of his fingers, she found herself lying on top of Chakotay's naked body. Her eyes roved appreciatively over his golden flesh. She sighed and lovingly laid her palm over his heart. She raised her gaze and stared into his sleepy eyes.

"Come closer, my love," he murmured, bring her head down so that he could tenderly kiss her. He was lost in dreams of her and their time together on a bright morning in a distant land.

Kathryn returned his kiss, putting all her love, desire and grief she had endured for the past seven years, into that soulful union of lips. Her lids fluttered closed as he pulled her down onto the mattress and laid his body over hers, rising above her to brush aside her auburn locks from her smoky, blue eyes.

"Chakotay, please…" She called out softly.

Calling out his name began to break the spell clouding his mind and Chakotay looked down at her, seeing her lying under him, her hair tousled, her lips kiss swollen and reddened.

'I've never dreamt of her so clearly. I can smell the delicate scent of roses and Kathryn. Her taste is almost indescribable, so pure and sweet. Have I ever seen such tenderness and love shining in those pools of blue towards me, even in my most treasured of fantasies? Her body feels… it feels… real?'

He pulled away with a horrified expression and hurriedly removed his hand from her hip.

"Kathryn," Chakotay stuttered, losing his calm demeanor. "I'm sorry. I don't know how this happened."

"You mean my being in your quarters, lying on your bed with you, your body pressing down upon mine and being thoroughly ravished by you?" Kathryn asked innocently.

"Yes," he muttered, wishing he could remember how he'd managed to get her into his arms after so many years of her sending him away from her at the slightest hint of affection from him.

"Destiny," she said simply, "I've finally realized that what we have is more powerful than any protocol, any deceit, any betrayal and anything Starfleet can do to us once we get home. What we have is something that transcends time. I'm ready to live in the present with you by my side and not worry about a future that may never be."

"That's seems like a quick change of mind. You've kept things safe for so long, how do I know that in a few weeks or days, you won't change your mind about yes," Chakotay questioned, needing to hear her promise that this wasn't a mind game that she was playing with him but a true step towards a lasting relationship.

She shook her head. "I won't change my mind, Iain," she replied, watching him closely for his reaction.

"What did you call me?" Chakotay demanded, his voice raspy. He stared at her and the realization hit him. "It wasn't a dream."

"You're right, it wasn't a dream, Chakotay. We were there."

"I remember it. I can still feel you in my arms and your kiss," Chakotay said in wonder.

"Uhmm, Chakotay. I am in your arms and I just finished kissing you. I'd be very upset if you didn't recall that," Kathryn teased, every fiber of her being glowing in joy and mischief.

"Kathryn, you know what I mean," Chakotay replied, sheepishly grinning at her. "Do you truly mean it?"

"Yes, I'm done running away from this. You're stuck with me from now on. Just try getting away from me and you see what happens to you, you big lug," Kathryn threatened playfully, glancing down at his masculine beauty and sighing in contentment.

"There's no where else I'd like to be," Chakotay vowed, tilting her head back to meet his intense look. "Now, where were we in our dreams? Oh, I remember. Someone owes me a wedding night," Chakotay growled in a low purr that sent shivers through her.

"Just one," she asked, her voice hitching as he began to play with the straps of her nightgown and his lips nuzzled against the sensitive flesh of her throat.

"Kat, every night will be our wedding night. A night filled with passion, love and renewal," Chakotay murmured, as he nibbled his way long her slender throat to capture her earlobe in a soft kiss. "Now, come here wench."

"That's Captain Wench," she purred huskily, surprising him by flipping him over and straddling his stunned figure. She smiled down at him and brushed trembling hand over his face, "I love you, Chakotay."

"And I love you," Chakotay replied, tears falling freely down his face, at last he had the freedom of speaking aloud of his love for this complex woman and it being returned. Love replacing the fear that had so long ruled their lives. His voice broke in mid-sentence as he reaffirmed a pledge given by Iain to his Catherine, "For all eternity, my love."

"Forever," Kathryn echoed, cherishing the treasure that she had been gifted in both of her lives. A gift that would nourish her until the end of her days. An eternity of being at his side, forever loved and forever cherished.

The lights dimmed, casting the lovers into shadowy figures. The air filled with their sweet cries and words of love, as they renewed a promise that was given in the distant past and creating a new life that would enrich them all as they began their new journey together.

The End

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